GORDON  AOLMES 


iia 


A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE 


A  MYSTERIOUS 
DISAPPEARANCE 


BY 


GORDON  HOLMES 


NEW  YORK 

EDWARD  J.  CLODE 

156  FIFTH  AVENUE 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
EDWARD  J.  CLODE 


The  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass. 


CONTENTS 

I  "Last  Seen  at  Victoria!"   ...  1 

II  Inspector  White         ....  12 

III  The  Lady's  Maid     ....  22 

IV  No.  61  Raleigh  Mansions  .          .  30 
V  At  the  Jollity  Theatre         ...  41 

VI  Miss  Marie  le  Marchant    ...  48 

VII     In  the  City 56 

Vm  The  Hotel  du  Cercle           ...  64 

IX  Breaking  the  Bank    ....  72 

X  Some  Good  Resolutions       ...  83 

XI     Theories 91 

XH  Who  Corbett  Was      ....  101 

XIII  A  Question  of  Principle     .          .          .  109 

XIV  No.  12  Raleigh  Mansions  .         .  119 
XV  Mrs.  Hittmer  Hesitates      .         .         .  131 

XVI  Foxey       .         .         .         .         .         .  142 

XVH  A  Possible  Explanation      ...  152 

What  Happened  on  the  Riviera            .  163 


2136254 


Contents 

XIX     Where  Mrs.  Hillmer  Went         .          .  175 

XX     Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett    .         .         .  183 

XXI    How  Lady  Dyke  Left  Raleigh  Man- 
sions        .....  194 

XXII    A  Witful  Murder     ....  205 

XXIII  The  Letter       -.'        .         .         .         .  216 

XXIV  The  Handwriting    .         .'.          .  225 
XXV    Miss  Phyllis  Browne  Intervenes         .  234 

XXVI     Lady  Helen  Montgomery's  Son           .  246 

XXVII    Mr.  White's  Method         ...  254 

XXVIII     Sir  Charles  Dyke's  Journey       .          .  264 

XXIX    How  Lady  Dyke  Disappeared  .         .  274 

XXX    Sir  Charles  Dyke  Ends  His  Narra- 
tive             285 

XXXI     Valedictory      ..        ,         .         .       '  .  297 


CHAPTER  I 
"LAST  SEEN  AT  VICTORIA!" 

ALICE,  Lady  Dyke,  puckered  her  handsome  fore- 
head into  a  thoughtful  frown  as  she  drew  aside 
the  window-curtains  of  her  boudoir  and  tried  to 
look  out  into  the  opaque  blackness  of  a  November  fog 
in  London. 

Behind  her  was  cheerfulness  —  in  front  uncertainty. 
Electric  lights,  a  nice  fire  reflected  from  gleaming  brass, 
the  luxury  of  carpets  and  upholstery,  formed  an  alluring 
contrast  to  the  dull  yellow  glare  of  a  solitary  lamp  in  the 
outer  obscurity. 

But  Lady  Dyke  was  a  strong-minded  woman.  There 
was  no  trace  of  doubt  in  the  wrinkled  brows  and  reflective 
eyes.  She  held  back  the  curtains  with  her  left  hand, 
buttoning  a  glove  at  the  wrist  with  the  other.  Fog  or  no 
fog,  she  would  venture  forth,  and  she  was  already  dressed 
for  the  weather  in  tailor-made  costume  and  winter  toque. 

She  was  annoyed,  but  not  disconcerted  by  the  fog. 
Too  long  had  she  allowed  herself  to  take  things  easily. 
The  future  was  as  murky  as  the  atmosphere;  the  past  was 
dramatically  typified  by  the  pleasant  surroundings  on 
which  she  resolutely  turned  her  back.  Lady  Dyke  was 
quite  determined  as  to  her  actions,  and  a  dull  November 

[1] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

night  was  a  most  unlikely  agent  to  restrain  her  from 
following  the  course  she  had  mapped  out. 

Moving  to  the  light  again,  she  took  from  her  pocket  a 
long,  closely  written  letter.  Its  details  were  familiar  to 
her,  but  her  face  hardened  as  she  hastily  ran  through  it 
in  order  to  find  a  particular  passage. 

At  last  she  gained  her  object  —  to  make  quite  sure  of 
an  address.  Then  she  replaced  the  document,  stood  un- 
decided for  a  moment,  and  touched  an  electric  bell. 

"James,"  she  said,  to  the  answering  footman,  "I  am 
going  out." 

"Yes,  milady." 

"  Sir  Charles  is  not  at  home  ? " 

"No,  milady." 

"  I  am  going  to  Richmond  —  to  see  Mrs.  Talbot.  I 
shall  probably  not  return  in  time  for  dinner.  Tell  Sir 
Charles  not  to  wait  for  me." 

"  Shall  I  order  the  carriage  for  your  ladyship  ?  " 

"Will  you  listen  to  me  and  remember  what  I  have 
said?" 

"Yes,  milady." 

James  ran  downstairs,  opened  the  door,  bowed  as  Lady 
Dyke  passed  into  Portman  Square,  and  then  confiden- 
tially informed  Buttons  that  "  the  missus  "  was  in  a  "  rare 
old  wax"  about  something. 

"She  nearly  jumped  down  my  bloomin'  throat  when  I 
asked  her  if  she  would  have  the  carriage,"  he  said. 

Her  ladyship's  mood  did  not  soften  when  she  drifted 
from  the  fixed  tenure  of  Wensley  House,  Portman  Square, 
into  the  chaos  of  Oxford  Street  and  fog  at  5.30  on  a 
November  evening. 

Though  not  a  true  "London  particular,"  the  fog  was 
chilly,  exasperating,  tedious.  People  bumped  against  each 

[2] 


"Last  Seen  at  Victoria!" 

other  without  apology,  'buses  crunched  through  the  traffic 
with  deadly  precision,  pair-horse  vans  swept  around 
corners  with  magnificent  carelessness. 

In  the  result,  Lady  Dyke,  who  meant  to  walk,  as  she 
was  somewhat  in  advance  of  the  time  she  had  fixed  on  for 
this  very  important  engagement,  took  a  hansom.  In  her 
present  mood  slight  things  annoyed  her.  Usually,  the 
London  cab-horse  is  a  thoughtful  animal;  he  refuses  to 
hurry;  when  he  falls  he  lies  contented,  secure  in  the 
knowledge  that  for  five  blissful  minutes  he  will  be  at 
complete  rest.  But  this  misguided  quadruped  flew  as 
though  oats  and  meadow-grass  awaited  him  at  Victoria 
Station  on  the  Underground  Railway. 

He  raced  down  Park  Lane,  skidded  past  Hyde  Park 
Comer,  and  grated  the  off-wheel  of  the  hansom  against 
the  kerb  outside  the  station  within  eight  minutes. 

In  other  words,  her  ladyship,  if  she  would  obey  the 
directions  contained  in  the  voluminous  letter,  was  com- 
pelled to  kill  time. 

As  she  stepped  from  the  vehicle  and  halted  beneath  a 
lamp  to  take  a  florin  from  her  purse,  a  tall,  ulster-wrapped 
gentleman,  walking  rapidly  into  Victoria  Street,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  her  face  and  well-proportioned  form. 

Instantly  his  hat  was  off. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,  Lady  Dyke.  Can 
I  be  of  any  service?" 

She  bit  her  lip,  not  unobserved,  but  the  law  of  Society 
forced  her  features  into  a  bright  smile. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bruce,  is  it  you?  I  am  going  to  see  my 
sister  at  Richmond.  Isn't  the  weather  horrid?  I  shall 
be  so  glad  if  you  will  put  me  into  the  right  train." 

Mr.  Claude  Bruce,  barrister  and  man  about  town, 
whose  clean-cut  features  and  dark,  deep-set  eyes  made 

[3] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

him  as  readily  recognizable,  knew  that  she  would  have 
been  much  better  pleased  had  he  passed  without  greeting. 
Like  the  footman,  he  wondered  why  she  did  not  drive  in 
her  carriage  rather  than  travel  by  the  Underground  Rail- 
way on  such  a  night.  He  guessed  that  she  was  perturbed 
—  that  her  voluble  explanation  was  a  disguise. 

He  reflected  that  he  could  ill  afford  any  delay  in  dressing 
for    a    distant    dinner  —  that   good    manners    oft    entail 
inconvenience  —  but  of  course  he  said : 
"Delighted.     Have  you  any  wraps?" 
"No,  I  am  just  going  for  a  chat,  and  shall  be  home 
early." 

He  bought  her  a  first-class  ticket,  noting  as  an  odd 
coincidence  that  it  bore  the  number  of  the  year,  1903, 
descended  to  the  barrier,  found  that  the  next  train  for 
Richmond  passed  through  in  ten  minutes,  fumed  inwardly 
for  an  instant,  explained  his  presence  to  the  ticket-col- 
lector, and  paced  the  platform  with  his  companion. 

Having  condemned  the  fog,  and  the  last  play,  and  the 
latest  book,  they  were  momentarily  silent. 

The  newspaper  placards  on  Smith  &  Son's  bookstall 
announced  that  a  "Great  Society  Scandal"  was  on  the 
tapis.  "  The  Duke  in  the  Box  "  formed  a  telling  line,  and 
the  eyes  of  both  people  chanced  on  it  simultaneously. 

Thought  the  woman :  "  He  is  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
an  experienced  lawyer.  Shall  I  tell  him?" 

Thought  the  man:  "She  wants  to  take  me  into  her 
confidence,  and  I  am  too  busy  to  be  worried  by  some 
small  family  squabble." 

Said  she:  "Are  you  much  occupied  at  the  Courts  just 
now,  Mr.  Bruce?" 

"No,"  he  replied;  "not  exactly.  My  practice  is  more 
consultive  than  active.  Many  people  seek  my  advice 

[4] 


"Last  Seen  at  Victoria!" 

about  matters  of  little  interest,  never  thinking  that  they 
would  best  serve  their  ends  by  acting  decisively  and 
promptly  themselves." 

Lady  Dyke  set  her  lips.  She  could  be  both  prompt 
and  decisive.  She  resolved  to  keep  her  troubles,  whatever 
they  were,  locked  in  the  secrecy  of  her  own  heart,  and 
when  she  next  spoke  of  some  trivial  topic  the  barrister 
knew  that  he  had  been  spared  a  recital. 

He  regretted  it  afterwards. 

At  any  other  moment  in  his  full  and  useful  life  he  would 
have  encouraged  her  rather  than  the  reverse.  Even  now, 
a  few  seconds  too  late,  he  was  sorry.  He  strove  to  bring 
her  back  to  the  verge  of  explanations,  but  failed,  for  her 
ladyship  was  a  proud,  self-reliant  personage  —  one  who 
would  never  dream  of  risking  a  rebuff. 

A  train  came,  with  "  Richmond "  staring  at  them  from 
the  smoke  and  steam  of  the  engine. 

"Good-bye!"  he  said. 

"Good-bye!" 

"Shall  I  see  you  again  soon?" 

"I  fear  not.  It  is  probable  that  I  shall  leave  for  the 
South  of  France  quite  early." 

And  she  was  gone.  Her  companion  rushed  to  the 
street,  and  almost  ran  to  his  Victoria  Street  chambers. 
It  was  six  o'clock.  He  had  to  dress  and  drive  all  the  way 
to  Hampstead  for  dinner  at  7.30. 

At  ten  minutes  past  nine  Sir  Charles  Dyke  entered 
Wensley  House.  A  handsome,  quiet,  gentlemanly  man 
was  Sir  Charles.  He  was  rich  —  a  Guardsman  until  the 
baronetcy  devolved  upon  him,  a  popular  figure  in  Society, 
esteemed  a  trifle  fast  prior  to  his  marriage,  but  sobered 
down  by  the  cares  of  a  great  estate  and  a  vast  fortune. 

[5] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

His  wife  and  he  were  not  well-matched  in  disposition. 

She  was  too  earnest,  too  prim,  for  the  easy-going  baronet. 
He  respected  her,  that  was  all.  A  man  of  his  nature  found 
it  impossible  to  realize  that  the  depths  of  passion  are 
frequently  coated  over  with  ice.  Their  union  was  irre- 
proachable, like  their  marriage  settlements;  but  there  are 
more  features  in  matrimony  than  can  be  disposed  of  by 
broad  seals  and  legal  phrases. 

Unfortunately,  they  were  childless,  and  were  thus  de- 
prived of  the  one  great  bond  which  unites  when  others 
may  fail. 

Sir  Charles  was  hurried,  if  not  flurried.  His  boots  were 
muddy  and  his  clothes  splashed  by  the  mire  of  passing 
vehicles. 

"  I  fear  I  am  very  late  for  dinner,"  he  said  to  the  footman 
who  took  his  hat  and  overcoat.  "  But  I  shall  not  be  five 
minutes  in  dressing.  Tell  her  ladyship  —  " 

"Milady  is  not  at  home,  Sir  Charles." 

"Not  at  home!" 

"  Milady  went  out  at  half-past  five,  saying  that  she  was 
going  to  Richmond  to  see  Lady  Edith  Talbot,  and  that 
you  were  not  to  wait  dinner  if  she  was  late  in  returning." 

Sir  Charles  was  surprised.  He  looked  steadily  at  the 
man  as  he  said: 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  her  ladyship's  orders  ?  " 

"Quite  sure,  Sir  Charles." 

"Did  she  drive?" 

"No,  Sir  Charles.  She  would  not  order  the  carriage 
when  I  suggested  it." 

The  baronet,  somewhat  perplexed,  hesitated  a  moment. 
Then  he  appeared  to  dismiss  the  matter  as  hardly  worth 
discussion,  saying,  as  he  went  up  stairs: 

"Dinner  almost  immediately,  James." 

[6] 


"Last  Seen  at  Victoria!" 

During  the  solitary  meal  he  was  preoccupied,  but  ate 
more  than  usual,  in  the  butler's  judgment.  Finding  his 
own  company  distasteful,  he  discussed  the  November 
Handicap  with  the  butler,  and  ultimately  sent  for  an 
evening  paper. 

Opening  it,  the  first  words  that  caught  his  eye  were, 
"Murder  in  the  West  End."  He  read  the  paragraph,  the 
record  of  some  tragic  orgy,  and  turned  to  the  butler. 

"A  lot  of  these  beastly  crimes  have  occurred  recently, 
Thompson." 

"Yes,  Sir  Charles.  There's  bin  three  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  month." 

After  a  pause.  "Did  you  hear  that  her  ladyship  had 
gone  to  Richmond?" 

"Yes,  Sir  Charles." 

"  Do  you  know  how  she  went  ?  " 

"No,  Sir  Charles." 

"  I  wanted  to  see  her  tonight,  very  particularly.  Order 
the  brougham  in  ten  minutes.  I  am  going  to  the  Travel- 
lers' Club.  I  shall  be  home  soon  —  say  eleven  o'clock  — 
when  her  ladyship  arrives." 

The  baronet  was  driven  to  and  from  the  club  by  his 
own  coachman,  but  on  returning  to  Wensley  House  was 
told  that  his  wife  was  still  absent. 

"No  telegram  or  message?" 

"No,  Sir  Charles." 

"I  suppose  she  will  stay  with  her  sister  all  night,  and 
I  shall  have  a  note  in  the  morning  to  say  so.  Just  like  a 
woman.  Now  if  I  did  that,  James,  there  would  be  no 
end  of  a  row.  Anxiety,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Call  me 
at  8.30." 

An  hour  later  Sir  Charles  Dyke  left  the  library  and 
went  to  bed. 

[7] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

At  breakfast  next  morning  the  master  of  the  house 
rapidly  scanned  the  letters  near  his  plate  for  the  expected 
missive  from  his  wife.  There  was  none. 

A  maid  was  waiting.     He  sent  her  to  call  the  butler. 

"Look  here,  Thompson,"  he  cried,  "her  ladyship  has 
not  written.  Don't  you  think  I  had  better  wire?  It's 
curious,  to  say  the  least,  going  off  to  Richmond  in  this 
fashion,  in  a  beastly  fog,  too." 

Thompson  was  puzzled.  He  had  examined  the  letters 
an  hour  earlier.  But  he  agreed  that  a  telegram  was  the 
thing. 

Sir  Charles  wrote:  "Expected  to  hear  from  you.  Will 
you  be  home  to  lunch?  Want  to  see  you  about  some 
hunters";  and  addressed  it  to  his  wife  at  her  sister's 
residence. 

"  There,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  coffee  and  sole.  "  That 
will  fetch  her.  We  are  off  to  Leicestershire  next  week, 
Thompson.  By  the  way,  I  am  going  to  a  sale  at  Tatter- 
sail's.  Send  a  groom  there  with  her  ladyship's  answer 
when  it  comes." 

He  had  not  been  long  at  the  sale  yard  when  a  servant 
arrived  with  a  telegram. 

"Ah,  the  post-office  people  are  quick  this  morning,"  he 
said,  smiling.  He  opened  the  envelope  and  read: 

"  Want  to  see  you  at  once.  —  DICK." 

He  was  so  surprised  by  the  unexpected  nature  of  the 
message  that  he  read  the  words  aloud  mechanically.  But 
he  soon  understood,  and  smiled  again. 

"Go  back  quickly,"  he  said  to  the  man,  "and  tell 
Thompson  to  send  along  the  next  telegram." 

A  consignment  of  Waterford  hunters  was  being  sold  at 
the  time,  and  the  baronet  was  checking  the  animals' 

[8] 


"Last  Seen  at  Victoria!" 

descriptions  on  the  catalogue,  when  he  was  cheerily 
addressed : 

"Hallo,  Dyke,  preparing  for  the  shires,  eh?" 

Wheeling  round,  the  baronet  shook  hands  with  Claude 
Bruce. 

"  Yes  —  that  is,  I  am  looking  out  for  a  couple  of  nice- 
mannered  ones  for  my  wife.  I  have  six  eating  their  heads 
off  at  Market  Harborough  now." 

Bruce  hesitated.  "  Will  Lady  Dyke  hunt  this  season  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"Well,  hardly  that.  But  she  likes  to  dodge  about  the 
lanes  with  the  parson  and  the  doctor." 

"  I  only  inquired  because  she  told  me  last  night  that  she 
would  probably  winter  in  the  South  of  France." 

"Told  you  — last  night  — South  of  France!"  Sir 
Charles  Dyke  positively  gasped  in  his  amazement. 

"Why,  yes.  I  met  her  at  Victoria.  She  was  going  to 
Richmond  to  see  her  sister,  she  said." 

"I  am  jolly  glad  to  hear  it." 

"Glad!    Why?" 

"Because  I  have  not  seen  her  myself  since  yesterday 
morning.  She  went  off  mysteriously,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
leaving  a  message  with  the  servants.  Naturally  I  am  glad 
to  hear  from  you  that  she  got  into  the  train  all  right." 

"  I  put  her  in  the  carriage  myself.  Have  you  not  heard 
from  her  ?  " 

"No.  I  wired  this  morning,  and  expect  an  answer  at 
any  moment.  But  what  is  this  about  the  South  of  France  ? 
We  go  to  Leicestershire  next  week." 

"I  can't  say,  of  course.  Your  wife  seemed  to  be  a 
little  upset  about  something.  She  only  mentioned  her 
intention  casually  —  in  fact,  when  I  asked  if  we  would 
meet  soon." 

[9] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

The  other  laughed,  a  little  oddly  in  the  opinion  of  his 
astute  observer,  and  dismissed  the  matter  by  the  remark 
that  the  expected  message  from  his  wife  would  soon  clear 
the  slight  mystery  attending  her  movements  during  the 
past  eighteen  hours. 

The  two  men  set  themselves  to  the  congenial  task  of 
criticizing  the  horses  trotting  up  and  down  the  straw- 
covered  track,  and  Sir  Charles  had  purchased  a  nice  half- 
bred  animal  for  forty  guineas  when  his  groom  again 
saluted  him. 

"Please,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "here's  another  telegram, 
and  Thompson  told  me  to  ask  if  it  was  the  right  one." 

Sir  Charles  frowned  at  the  interruption  —  a  second 
horse  of  a  suitable  character  was  even  then  under  the 
hammer  —  but  he  tore  open  the  envelope.  At  once  his 
agitation  became  so  marked  that  Bruce  cried: 

"Good  heavens,  Dyke,  what  is  it?  No  bad  news,  I 
hope?" 

The  other,  by  a -strong  effort,  regained  his  self-control. 

"No,  no,"  he  stammered;  "it  is  all  right,  all  right. 
She  has  gone  somewhere  else.  See.  This  is  from  her 
sister,  Mrs.  Talbot.  Still,  I  wish  Alice  would  consider  my 
natural  anxiety  a  little." 

Bruce  read: 

"I  opened  your  message.  Alice  not  here.  I  have  not 
seen  her  for  over  a  week.  What  do  you  mean  by  wire  ? 
Am  coming  to  town  at  once.  —  EDITH." 

The  baronet's  pale  face  and  strained  voice  betrayed  the 
significance  of  the  thought  underlying  the  simple  question. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  Claude  ?  " 

Bruce,  too,  was  very  grave.  "  The  thing  looks  queer," 
he  said;  "though  the  explanation  may  be  trifling.  Come, 

[10] 


"Last  Seen  at  Victoria!" 

I  will  help  you.     Let  us  reach  your  house.     It  is  the 
natural  centre  for  inquiries." 

They  hailed  a  hansom  and  v.-hirled  off  to  Portman 
Square.  They  did  not  say  much.  Each  man  felt  that 
the  affair  might  not  end  so  happily  and  satisfactorily  as 
he  hoped, 


[11] 


CHAPTER  H 
INSPECTOR  WHITE 

LADY  DYKE  had  disappeared. 

Whether  dead  or  alive,  and  if  alive,  whether  detained 
by  force  or  absent  of  her  own  unfettered  volition,  this 
handsome  and  well-known  leader  of  Society  had  vanished 
utterly  from  the  moment  when  Claude  Bruce  placed  her 
in  a  first-class  carriage  of  a  Metropolitan  Richmond  train 
at  Victoria  Station. 

At  first  her  husband  and  relatives  hoped  against  hope 
that  some  extraordinary  tissue  of  events  had  contributed 
to  the  building  up  of  a  mystery  which  would  prove  to  be 
no  mystery. 

Yet  the  days  fled,  and  there  was  no  trace  of  her  where- 
abouts. 

At  the  outset,  the  inquiry  was  confined  to  the  circle  of 
friends  and  relatives.  Telegrams  and  letters  in  every 
possible  direction  suggested  by  this  comparatively  re- 
stricted field  showed  conclusively  that  not  only  had  Lady 
Dyke  not  been  seen,  but  no  one  had  the  slightest  clue  to 
the  motives  which  might  induce  her  to  leave  her  home 
purposely. 

So  far  as  her  distracted  husband  could  ascertain,  she 
did  not  owe  a  penny  in  the  world.  She  was  a  rich  woman 
in  her  own  right,  and  her  banking  account  was  in  perfect 
order. 

[12] 


Inspector  White 

She  was  a  woman  of  the  domestic  temperament,  always 
in  close  touch  with  her  family,  and  those  who  knew  her 
best  scouted  the  notion  of  any  petty  intrigue  which  would 
move  her,  by  fear  or  passion,  to  abandon  all  she  held 
dear. 

The  stricken  baronet  confided  the  search  only  to  his 
friend  Bruce.  He  brokenly  admitted  that  he  had  riot 
sufficiently  appreciated  his  wife  while  she  was  with  him. 

"She  was  of  a  superior  order  to  me,  Claude,"  he  said. 
"I  am  hardly  a  home  bird.  Her  ideals  were  lofty  and 
humanitarian.  Too  often  I  was  out  of  sympathy  with  her, 
and  laughed  at  her  notions.  But,  believe  me,  we  never 
had  the  shadow  of  a  serious  dispute.  Perhaps  I  went  my 
own  way  a  little  selfishly,  but  at  the  time,  I  thought  that 
she,  on  her  part,  was  somewhat  straight-laced.  I  appre- 
ciate her  merits  when  it  is  too  late." 

"  But  you  must  not  assume  even  yet  that  she  is  dead." 
The  barrister  was  certain  that  some  day  the  mystery 
would  be  elucidated. 

"She  is.  I  feel  that.  I  shall  never  see  her  on  earth 
again." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  Dyke.  Far  more  remarkable  occur- 
rences have  been  satisfactorily  cleared  up." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,  old  chap,  to  take  this  cheering 
view.  Only,  you  see,  I  know  my  wife's  character  so  well. 
She  would  die  a  hundred  times  if  it  were  possible  rather 
than  cause  the  misery  to  her  people  and  myself  which,  if 
living,  she  knows  must  ensue  from  this  terrible  uncer- 
tainty as  to  her  fate." 

"Scotland  Yard  is  still  sanguine."  This  good-natured 
friend  was  evidently  making  a  conversation. 

"Oh,  naturally.  But  something  tells  me  that  my  wife 
is  dead,  whether  by  accident  or  design  it  is  impossible  to 

[13] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

say.  The  police  will  cling  to  the  belief  that  she  is  in 
hiding  in  order  to  conceal  their  own  inability  to  find  her." 

"A  highly  probable  theory.  Are  your  servants  to  be 
trusted?" 

"Y — es.  They  have  all  been  with  us  some  years. 
Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  anxious  that  nothing  of  this  should  get 
into  the  papers.  I  have  caused  paragraphs  to  be  inserted 
in  the  fashionable  intelligence  columns  that  Lady  Dyke 
has  gone  to  visit  some  friends  in  the  Midlands.  For  her 
own  sake,  if  she  be  living,  it  is  best  to  choke  scandal  at 
its  source." 

"Well,  Bruce,  I  leave  everything  to  you.  Make  such 
arrangements  as  you  think  fit." 

The  barrister's  mobile  face  softened  with  pity  as  he 
looked  at  his  afflicted  friend. 

In  four  days  Sir  Charles  Dyke  had  aged  many  years  in 
appearance.  No  one  who  was  acquainted  with  him  in 
the  past  would  have  imagnied  that  the  loss  of  his  wife 
could  so  affect  him. 

"I  have  done  all  that  was  possible,  yet  it  is  very  little," 
said  Bruce,  after  a  pause.  "You  are  aware  that  I  am 
supposed  to  be  an  adept  at  solving  curious  or  criminal 
investigations  of  an  unusual  class.  But  in  this  case, 
partly,  I  suspect,  because  I  myself  am  the  last  person  who, 
to  our  common  knowledge,  saw  Lady  Dyke  alive  on 
Tuesday  night,  I  am  faced  by  a  dead  wall  of  impenetrable 
fact,  through  which  my  intellect  cannot  pierce.  Yet  I 
am  sure  that  some  day  this  wretched  business  will  be 
intelligible.  I  will  find  her  if  living;  I  will  find  her 
murderer  if  she  be  dead." 

Not  often  did  Claude  Bruce  allow  his  words  to  so  be- 
tray his  thoughts. 

[14] 


Inspector  White 

Both  men  were  absorbed  by  the  thrilling  sensations 
of  the  moment,  and  they  were  positively  startled  when 
a  servant  suddenly  announced: 

"Inspector  White,  of  Scotland  Yard." 

A  short,  thick-set  man  entered.  He  was  absolutely 
round  in  every  part.  His  sturdy,  rotund  frame  was  sup- 
ported on  stout,  well-moulded  legs.  His  bullet  head, 
with  close-cropped  hair,  gave  a  suggestion  of  strength 
to  his  rounded  face,  and  a  pair  of  small  bright  eyes  looked 
suspiciously  on  the  world  from  beneath  well-arched 
eyebrows. 

Two  personalities  more  dissimilar  than  those  of  Claude 
Bruce  and  Inspector  White  could  hardly  be  brought  to- 
gether in  the  same  room.  People  who  are  fond  of  trac- 
ing resemblances  to  animals  in  human  beings  would 
liken  the  one  to  a  grey-hound,  the  other  to  a  bull- 
dog. 

Yet  they  were  both  masters  in  the  art  of  detecting 
crime  —  the  barrister  subtle,  analytic,  introspective;  the 
policeman  direct,  pertinacious,  self-confident.  Bruce 
lost  all  interest  in  a  case  when  the  hidden  trail  was  laid 
bare.  Mr.  White  regarded  investigation  as  so  many 
hours  on  duty  until  his  man  was  transported  or  hanged. 

The  detective  was  well  acquainted  with  his  unpro- 
fessional colleague,  and  had  already  met  Sir  Charles  in 
the  early  stages  of  his  present  quest. 

"I  have  an  important  clue,"  he  said,  smiling  with 
assurance. 

"What  is  it?"  The  baronet  was  for  the  moment 
aroused  from  his  despondent  lethargy. 

"Her  ladyship  did  not  go  to  Richmond  on  Tuesday 
night." 

Inspector  White  did  not  wait  for  Bruce  to  speak,  but 

[15] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

the  barrister  nodded  with  the  air  of  one  who  knew  already 
that  Lady  Dyke  had  not  gone  to  Richmond. 

Mr.  White  continued.  "Thanks  to  Mr.  Bruce's  re- 
membrance of  the  number  of  the  ticket,  we  traced  it  at 
once  in  the  clearing  office.  It  was  given  up  at  Sloan 
Square  immediately  after  the  Richmond  train  passed 
through." 

Bruce  nodded  again.  He  was  obstinately  silent,  so  the 
detective  questioned  him  directly. 

"By  this  means  the  inquiry  is  narrowed  to  a  locality. 
Eh,  Mr.  Bruce?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  barrister,  turning  to  poke  the  fire. 

Mr.  White  was  sure  that  his  acuteness  was  displeasing 
to  his  clever  rival.  He  smiled  complacently,  and  went 
on: 

"The  ticket-collector  remembers  her  quite  well,  as  the 
giving  up  of  a  Richmond  ticket  was  unusual  at  this  station. 
She  passed  straight  out  into  the  square,  and  from  that 
point  we  lost  sight  of  her." 

"You  do,  Mr.  White?"  said  Bruce. 

"Well,  sir,  it  is  a  great  thing  to  have  localized  her 
movements  at  that  hour,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  is.  To  save  time  I  may  tell  you  that  Lady 
Dyke  returned  to  the  station,  entered  the  refreshment 
room,  ordered  a  glass  of  wine,  which  she  hardly  touched, 
sat  down,  and  waited  some  fifteen  minutes.  Then  she 
quitted  the  room,  crossed  the  square,  asked  a  news-vendor 
where  Raleigh  Mansions  were,  and  gave  him  sixpence  for 
the  information." 

His  hearers  were  astounded. 

"Heavens,  Claude,  how  did  you  learn  all  this?"  cried 
the  baronet. 

"Thus  far,  it  was   simplicity  itself.     On  Wednesday 

[16] 


Inspector  White 

evening  when  no  news  could  be  obtained  from  your 
relatives,  I  started  from  Victoria,  intending  to  call  at 
every  station  until  I  found  the  place  where  she  left  the 
train.  The  railway  clearing  officer  was  too  slow,  Mr. 
White.  Naturally,  the  hours  being  identical  in  the  same 
week,  the  first  ticket-collector  I  spoke  to  gave  me  the 
desired  clue.  The  rest  was  a  mere  matter  of  steady 
inquiry." 

"Then  you  are  the  man  whom  the  police  are  now 
searching  for  ?  "  blurted  out  the  detective. 

"From  the  railway  official's  description?  Possibly. 
Pray,  Mr.  White,  let  me  see  the  details  of  my  appearance 
as  circulated  through  the  force.  It  would  be  interesting." 

The  inspector  was  saved  from  further  indiscretions  by 
Sir  Charles  Dyke's  plaintive  question: 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  these  things  sooner,  Claude  ?  " 

"What  good  was  there  in  torturing  you?  All  that  I 
have  ascertained  is  the  A  B  C  of  our  search.  We  are  at 
a  loss  for  the  motive  of  your  wife's  disappearance.  Vic- 
toria, Sloane  Square,  or  Richmond  —  does  it  matter 
which  ?  My  belief  is  that  she  intended  to  go  to  Richmond 
that  night.  Why,  otherwise,  should  she  make  to  the 
footman  and  myself  the  same  unvarying  statement? 
Perhaps  she  did  go  there?" 

"  But  these  houses,  Raleigh  Mansions.  What  of  them  ?  " 

"Ah,  there  we  may  be  forwarded  a  stage.  But  there 
are  six  main  entrances  and  no  hall  porters.  There  are 
twelve  flats  at  each  number,  seventy-two  in  all,  and  all 
occupied.  That  means  seventy-two  separate  inquiries 
into  the  history  and  attributes  of  a  vastly  larger  number 
of  persons,  in  order  to  find  some  possible  connection  with 
Lady  Dyke  and  her  purposely  concealed  visit.  She  may 
have  remained  in  one  of  those  flats  five  minutes.  She 

[17] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

may  be  in  one  of  them  yet.  Anyhow,  I  have  taken  the 
necessary  steps  to  obtain  the  fullest  knowledge  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Raleigh  Mansions." 

"Scotland  Yard  appears  to  be  an  unnecessary  institu- 
tion, Mr.  Bruce,"  snapped  the  detective. 

"By  no  means.  It  is  most  useful  to  me  once  I  have 
discovered  a  criminal.  And  it  amuses  me." 

"Listen,  Claude,  and  you,  Mr.  White,"  pleaded  the 
baronet.  "I  implore  you  to  keep  me  informed  in  future 
of  developments  in  your  search.  The  knowledge  that 
progress  is  being  made  will  sustain  me.  Promise,  I  ask 
you." 

"I  promise  readily  enough,"  answered  Bruce.  "I  only 
stipulate  that  you  prepare  yourself  for  many  disappoint- 
ments. Even  a  highly  skilled  detective  like  Inspector 
White  will  admit  that  the  failures  are  more  frequent  than 
the  successes." 

"True  enough,  sir.  But  I  must  be  going,  gentlemen." 
Mr.  White  was  determined  to  work  the  new  vein  of  Raleigh 
Mansions  thoroughly  before  even  his  superiors  were  aware 
of  its  significance  in  the  hunt  for  her  lost  ladyship. 

When  the  detective  went  out  there  was  silence  for  some 
time.  Dyke  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Have  you  formed  any  sort  of  theory,  even  a  wildly 
speculative  one  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No;  none  whatever.  The  utter  absence  of  motive  is 
the  most  puzzling  element  of  the  whole  situation." 

"  Whom  can  my  wife  have  known  at  Raleigh  Mansions  ? 
What  sort  of  places  are  they  ?  " 

"Quite  fashionable,  but  not  too  expensive.  The 
absence  of  elevators  and  doorkeepers  cheapens  them.  I 
am  sorry  now  that  I  mentioned  them  to  White." 

"Why?" 

[18] 


Inspector  White 

"He  will  disturb  every  one  of  the  residents  by  injudi- 
cious inquiries.  Each  housemaid  who  opens  a  door  will 
be  to  him  a  suspicious  individual,  each  butcher's  boy  an 
accomplice,  each  tenant  a  principal  in  the  abduction  of 
your  wife.  If  I  have  a  theory  of  any  sort,  it  is  that  the 
first  reliable  news  will  come  from  Richmond.  There 
cannot  be  the  slightest  doubt  that  she  was  going  there  on 
Tuesday  night." 

"  It  will  be  very  odd  if  you  should  prove  to  be  right," 
said  Sir  Charles. 

Again  they  were  interrupted  by  the  footman,  this  time 
the  bearer  of  a  telegram,  which  he  handed  to  his  master. 

The  latter  opened  it  and  read: 

"What  is  the  matter?  Are  you  ill?  I  certainly  am 
angry.  —  DICK." 

He  frowned  with  real  annoyance,  crumpling  up  the 
message  and  throwing  it  in  the  fire. 

"People  bothering  one  at  such  a  time,"  he  growled. 

Soon  afterwards  Bruce  left  him. 

True  to  the  barrister's  prophecy,  Inspector  White  made 
life  miserable  to  the  denizens  of  Raleigh  Mansions.  He 
visited  them  at  all  hours,  and,  in  some  instances,  several 
times.  Although,  in  accordance  with  his  instructions,  he 
never  mentioned  Lady  Dyke's  name,  he  so  pestered  the 
occupants  with  questions  concerning  a  lady  of  her  general 
appearance  that  half-a-dozen  residents  wrote  complaining 
letters  to  the  company  which  owned  the  mansions,  and 
the  secretary  lodged  a  protest  at  Scotland  Yard. 

Respectable  citizens  object  to  detectives  prowling  about, 
particularly  when  they  insinuate  questions  concerning 
indefinite  ladies  in  tailor-made  dresses  and  fur  toques. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Mr.  White  was  nonplussed,  and 

[191 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

even  Claude  Bruce  confessed  that  his  more  carefully 
conducted  inquiries  had  yielded  no  result. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  month  a  sensational  turn  was 
given  to  events.  The  body  of  a  woman,  terribly  dis- 
figured from  long  immersion  in  the  water  and  other 
causes,  was  found  in  the  Thames  at  Putney. 

It  had  been  discovered  under  peculiar  circumstances. 
A  drain  pipe  emptying  into  the  river  beneath  the  surface 
was  moved  by  reason  of  some  sanitary  alterations,  and  the 
workmen  intrusted  with  the  task  were  horrified  at  finding 
a  corpse  tightly  wedged  beneath  it. 

Official  examination  revealed  that  although  the  body 
had  been  in  the  water  fully  three  weeks,  the  cause  of  death 
was  not  drowning.  The  woman  had  been  murdered  be- 
yond a  shadow  of  a  doubt.  A  sharp  iron  spike  was 
driven  into  her  brain  with  such  force  that  a  portion  of  it 
had  broken  off,  and  remained  imbedded  in  the  skull. 

If  this  were  not  sufficient,  there  were  other  convinc- 
ing proofs  of  foul  play. 

Although  her  skirt  and  coat  were  of  poor  quality,  her 
linen  was  of  a  class  that  could  only  be  worn  by  some  one 
who  paid  as  much  for  a  single  under-garment  as  most 
women  do  for  a  good  costume;  but  there  were  no  laundry 
marks,  such  as  usual,  upon  it. 

On  the  feet  were  a  pair  of  strong  walking  boots,  bearing 
the  stamped  address  of  a  fashionable  boot-maker  in  the 
West  End.  Among  a  list  of  customers  to  whom  the 
tradesman  supplied  footgear  of  this  size  and  character 
appeared  the  name  of  Lady  Dyke. 

Not  very  convincing  testimony,  but  sufficient  to  bring 
Sir  Charles  to  the  Putney  mortuary  in  the  endeavor  to 
identify  the  remains  as  those  of  his  missing  wife. 

In  this  he  utterly  failed. 

[20] 


Inspector  White 

Not  only  was  this  poor  misshapen  lump  of  distorted 
humanity  wholly  unlike  Lady  Alice,  but  the  color  of  her 
hair  was  different. 

Her  ladyship's  maid  called  to  identify  the  linen  —  even 
the  police  admitted  the  outer  clothes  were  not  Lady  Dyke's 
—  was  so  upset  at  the  repulsive  nature  of  her  task  that  she 
went  into  hysterics,  protesting  loudly  that  it  could  not  be 
her  mistress  she  was  looking  at. 

Bruce  differed  from  both  of  them.  He  quietly  urged 
Sir  Charles  to  consider  the  fact  that  a  great  many  ladies 
give  a  helping  hand  to  Nature  in  the  matter  of  hair  tints. 
The  chemical  action  of  water  would  — 

The  baronet  nearly  lost  his  temper. 

"Really,  Bruce,  you  carry  your  theories  too  far,"  he 
cried.  "  My  wife  had  none  of  these  vanities.  I  am  sure 
this  is  not  she.  The  mere  thought  that  such  a  thing  could 
be  possible  makes  me  ill.  Let  us  get  away,  quick." 

So  a  coroner's  jury  found  an  open  verdict,  and  the  poor 
unknown  was  buried  in  a  pauper's  grave. 

The  newspapers  dismissed  the  incident  with  a  couple  of 
paragraphs,  though  the  iron  spike  planted  in  the  skull 
afforded  good  material  for  a  telling  headline,  and  within 
a  couple  of  days  the  affair  was  forgotten. 

But  Claude  Bruce,  barrister  and  amateur  detective, 
was  quite  sure  in  his  own  mind  that  the  nameless  woman 
was  Alice,  Lady  Dyke. 

He  was  so  certain  —  though  identification  of  the  body 
was  impossible  —  that  he  bitterly  resented  the  scant  atten- 
tion given  the  matter  by  the  authorities,  and  he  swore 
solemnly  that  he  would  not  rest  until  he  had  discovered 
her  destroyer  and  brought  the  wretch  to  the  bar  of  justice. 


[21 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  LADY'S  MAID 

THE  first  difficulty  experienced  by  the  barrister  in  his 
self-imposed  task  was  the  element  of  mystery  purposely 
contributed  by  Lady  Dyke  herself.  To  a  man  of  his 
quick  perception,  sharpened  and  clarified  by  his  legal 
training,  it  was  easy  to  arrive  at  the  positive  facts  under- 
lying the  trivial  incidents  of  his  meeting  with  the  missing 
lady  at  Victoria  Station. 

Briefly  stated,  his  summary  was  this:  Lady  Dyke  in- 
tended to  go  to  Richmond  at  a  later  hour  than  that  at 
which  his  unexpected  presence  had  caused  her  to  set  out. 
She  had  resolved  upon  a  secret  visit  to  some  one  who  lived 
in  Raleigh  Mansions,  Sloane  Square  —  some  person  whom 
she  knew  so  slightly  as  to  be  unacquainted  with  the  exact 
address,  and,  as  the  result  of  this  visit,  she  desired  subse- 
quently to  see  her  sister  at  Richmond. 

Sir  Charles  Dyke  was  apparently  in  no  way  concerned 
with  her  movements,  nor  had  she  thought  fit  to  consult 
him,  beyond  the  mere  politeness  of  announcing  her  prob- 
able absence  from  home  at  the  dinner  hour. 

To  one  of  Bruce's  analytical  powers  the  problem  would 
be  more  simple  were  it,  in  a  popular  sense,  more  complex. 
In  these  days,  it  is  a  strange  thing  for  a  woman  of  assured 
position  in  society  to  be  suddenly  spirited  out  of  the  world 
without  leaving  trace  or  sign.  He  approached  his  inquiry 

[22] 


The  Lady's  Maid 

with  less  certainty,  owing  to  Lady  Dyke's  own  negative 
admissions,  than  if  she  had  been  swallowed  up  by  an 
earthquake,  and  he  were  asked  to  determine  her  fate  by 
inference  and  deduction. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  he  was  sure  she  was  dead  — 
murdered,  and  that  her  body  had  been  lodged  by  human 
agents  beneath  an  old  drain-pipe  at  Putney. 

What  possible  motive  could  any  one  have  in  so  foully 
killing  a  beautiful,  high-minded,  and  charming  woman, 
whose  whole  life  was  known  to  her  associates,  whom  the 
breath  of  scandal  had  never  touched  ? 

The  key  of  the  mystery  might  be  found  at  Raleigh 
Mansions,  but  Bruce  decided  that  this  branch  of  his  quest 
could  wait  until  other  transient  features  were  cleared  up. 

He  practically  opened  the  campaign  of  investigation  at 
Putney.  Mild  weather  had  permitted  the  workmen  to 
conclude  their  operations  the  day  before  the  barrister 
reached  the  spot  where  the  body  had  been  found  —  that 
is  to  say,  some  forty-eight  hours  after  he  had  resolved 
neither  to  pause  nor  deviate  in  his  search  until  the  truth 
was  laid  bare. 

A  large  house,  untenanted,  occupied  the  bank,  a  house 
with  solid  front  facing  the  road,  and  a  lawn  running  from 
the  drawing-room  windows  to  the  river.  Down  the  right 
side  of  the  grounds  the  boundary  was  sharply  marked  by 
a  narrow  lane,  probably  a  disused  ferry  road,  and  access 
to  this  thoroughfare  was  obtained  from  the  lawn  by  a 
garden  gate. 

A  newly  marked  seam  in  the  roadway  showed  the  line 
of  the  drainage  work,  and  Bruce  did  not  glance  at  the 
point  where  the  pipe  entered  the  Thames,  as  the  structural 
features  here  were  recent. 

He  went  to  the  office  of  the  contractor  who  had  carried 

[23] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

out  the  alterations.  An  elderly  foreman  readily  answered 
his  questions. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  was  in  charge  of  the  men  who  were  on  the 
job.  It  was  an  easy  business.  Just  an  outlet  for  rain 
from  the  road.  An  old-fashioned  affair;  been  there  thirty 
or  forty  years,  I  should  think;  all  the  pipes  were  crumbling 
away." 

"  Why  were  the  repairs  effected  at  this  moment  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  the  house  was  empty  quite  a  while.  You 
see  it  used  to  be  a  school,  a  place  where  young  gents  were 
prepared  for  the  army.  It  was  closed  about  a  year  ago, 
and  it  isn't  everybody  as  wants  so  many  bedrooms.  I  do 
hear  as  how  the  new  tenant  has  sixteen  children." 

"  The  incoming  people  have  not  yet  arrived  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the  schoolmaster  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  When  I  was  younger  I  have  done  a  lot  of 
carpenter's  work  for  him.  He  was  the  Reverend  Septimus 
Childe." 

Bruce  made  a  note  of  the  name,  and  next  sought  the 
local  police-inspector. 

"  No,  nothing  fresh,"  said  the  latter,  in  reply  to  a  query 
concerning  the  woman  "found  drowned." 

"I  suppose  these  things  are  soon  lost  sight  of?"  said 
Bruce  casually. 

"Sometimes  they  are,  and  sometimes  they  aren't.  It's 
wonderful  occasionally  how  a  matter  gets  cleared  up  after 
years.  Of  course  we  keep  all  the  records  of  a  case,  so 
that  the  affair  can  be  looked  into  if  anything  turns  up." 

"  Ah,  that  brings  me  to  the  most  important  object  of  my 
visit.  A  small  piece  of  iron  was  found  imbedded  in  the 
woman's  skull." 

The  inspector  smiled  as  he  admitted  the  fact. 

[24] 


The  Lady's  Maid 

"  May  I  see  it  ?  I  want  either  the  loan  of  it  for  a  brief 
period,  or  an  exact  model." 

Again  the  policeman  grinned. 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  you  are  too  late,  sir." 

"  Too  late !     How  too  late  ?  " 

"  It's  been  gone  to  Scotland  Yard  for  the  best  part  of  a 
week." 

So  others  besides  the  barrister  thought  that  the  Putney 
incident  required  more  attention  than  had  been  bestowed 
upon  it. 

Bruce  concluded  his  round  by  a  visit  to  the  surgeon  who 
gave  evidence  at  the  inquest. 

The  doctor  had  no  manner  of  doubt  that  the  woman  had 
been  murdered  before  being  placed  in  the  water,  the  state 
of  the  lungs  being  proof  positive  on  that  point. 

"It  was  equally  indisputable  that  she  was  put  to  death 
by  malice  aforethought  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  A  small  iron  spike  was  absolutely  wedged 
into  the  brain  through  the  hardest  part  of  the  skull." 

"What  was  the  nature  of  the  injuries  that  caused 
death?" 

"  This  piece  of  iron  penetrated  the  occipital  bone  at  the 
lowest  part,  and  injured  the  cerebellum,  damaging  all  the 
great  nerve  centres  at  the  base  of  the  brain." 

"  Would  death  ensue  instantly  ?  " 

"Yes.  Such  a  blow  would  have  the  effect  of  a  high 
voltage  electric  current.  Complete  paralysis  of  the  nerve 
centres  means  death." 

'*  Then  I  take  it  that  great  force  tnust  have  been  used  ?  " 

"Not  so  much,  perhaps,  as  the  nature  of  the  wound 
seems  to  imply;  but  considerable  —  sufficient,  at  any  rate, 
to  break  the  piece  of  iron." 

[25] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  It  was  broken,  you  say  ?     Was  it  cast-iron  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  good  quality.  Off  some  ornament  or  design, 
I  should  imagine.  But  it  snapped  off  inside  the  head  at 
the  moment  of  the  occurrence." 

"  Curious,  is  it  not,  for  a  person  to  be  killed  in  such  a 
manner  by  such  an  instrument  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  before  met  such  a  case.  Were  it  not  for 
the  way  in  which  the  body  was  jammed  beneath  a  hidden 
drain-pipe,  and  the  effective  means  taken  to  destroy  the 
identity,  I  should  have  inclined  to  the  belief  that  some 
strange  accident  had  happened.  At  any  rate,  the  mur- 
derer must  have  committed  the  crime  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  and  seized  upon  the  first  weapon  to  hand." 

"You  say  she  was  forcibly  placed  where  found?" 

"Yes;  the  workmen's  description  left  no  other  idea." 

"  Could  not  the  tide  have  done  this  ? " 

"  Hardly.  One  cannot  be  quite  emphatic,  as  such  odd 
things  do  happen.  But  it  seems  to  be  almost  impossible 
for  the  tide  at  Putney  to  pack  a  body  beneath  a  jutting 
drain-pipe  in  such  a  manner  that  the  waist,  or  narrowest 
part,  should  be  beneath  the  pipe  and  the  body  remain 
securely  held." 

"  Yet  it  is  not  so  marvellous  as  the  coincidence  that  this 
particular  drain  should  need  repairs  at  the  precise  period 
when  this  tragedy  happened." 

"Quite  so.  It  is  exceedingly  strange.  Are  you  in- 
terested in  the  case  ?  Have  you  reason  to  believe  that  this 
poor  woman  —  ?  " 

"I  hardly  know,"  broke  in  the  barrister.  "I  have  no 
data  to  go  upon,  but  I  feel  convinced  that  I  shall  ulti- 
mately establish  her  identity.  You,  doctor,  can  help  me 
much  by  telling  me  your  surmises  in  addition  to  the  known 
facts." 

[26] 


The  Lady's  Maid 

The  medico  looked  thoughtfully  through  the  window 
before  he  exclaimed :  "  I  am  certain  that  the  woman  found 
in  the  Thames  came  from  the  upper  walks  of  life.  Not- 
withstanding the  disfiguring  effects  of  the  water  and  rough 
usage,  any  medical  man  can  rapidly  appreciate  the  caste 
of  his  subject.  She  was,  I  should  say,  a  woman  of  wealth 
and  refinement,  one  who  led  an  orderly,  well-regulated 
life,  whose  surroundings  were  normal  and  healthy." 

Bruce  thanked  his  informant  and  hurried  back  to  Lon- 
don. A  telegram  to  Inspector  White  preceded  him.  He 
had  not  long  reached  his  Victoria-street  chambers  when 
the  detective  was  announced.  He  soon  made  known  his 
wishes.  "  I  want  you  to  give  me  that  small  piece  of  iron 
found  in  the  head  of  the  woman  at  Putney,"  he  said. 
"If  necessary,  I  will  return  it  in  twenty-four  hours." 

Mr.  White's  face  showed  some  little  sign  of  annoyance. 
"It  is  against  the  rules,"  he  began;  but  Bruce  curtly 
interrupted  him. 

"Very  well,  I  will  make  direct  application  to  the 
Commissioner. ' ' 

"I  was  going  to  say,  Mr.  Bruce,  that  although  not 
strictly  in  accordance  with  orders,  I  will  make  an  exception 
in  your  case."  And  the  detective  slowly  produced  the 
piece  de  conviction  from  a  large  pocket-book. 

In  sober  fact,  the  police  officer  was  somewhat  jealous  of 
the  clever  lawyer,  who  saw  so  quickly  through  complex- 
ities that  puzzled  his  slower  brain.  He  was  in  nowise 
anxious  to  help  the  barrister  in  his  inquiries,  though 
keenly  wishful  to  benefit  by  his  discoveries,  and  follow 
out  his  theories  when  they  were  defined  with  sufficient 
clearness. 

Bruce  did  not  at  first  take  the  proffered  article. 

"Let  me  understand,  Mr.  White,"  he  said.     "Do  you 

[27] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

object  to  my  presence  in  this  inquiry  ?  Are  you  going  to 
hinder  me  or  help  me  ?  It  will  save  much  future  misun- 
derstanding if  we  have  this  point  settled  now." 

The  detective  flushed  at  this  direct  inquiry.  "  I  will  be 
candid  with  you,  Mr.  Bruce.  It  is  true  I  have  been  vexed 
at  times  when  you  have  overreached  me;  but  I  regret  it 
immediately.  It  is  foolish  of  me  to  try  and  solve  problems 
by  your  methods.  Kindly  forget  my  momentary  disin- 
clination to  hand  over  the  only  genuine  link  in  the  case." 

"  In  what  case  ?  " 

"In  the  case  of  Lady  Dyke's  disappearance." 

"Ah!  Then  you  think  it  is  in  some  way  connected 
with  the  woman  found  at  Putney  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  The  woman  at  Putney,  whether  Lady 
Dyke  herself  or  not  I  cannot  tell,  wore  some  of  her  lady- 
ship's clothes.  When  we  have  ascertained  the  means  and 
the  manner  of  the  death  of  the  woman  buried  at  Putney 
we  shall  not  be  far  from  learning  what  has  become  of 
Lady  Dyke." 

"  How  have  you  identified  the  clothes  ?  " 

"I  managed  to  gain  the  confidence  of  the  lady's  maid, 
who  gave  evidence  at  the  inquest.  She,  of  course,  is  quite 
positive  that  the  body  was  not  that  of  her  mistress,  but 
when  I  had  examined  some  of  Lady  Dyke's  linen  I  no 
longer  doubted  the  fact." 

"  If  you  knew  all  this,  how  comes  it  that  more  did  not 
transpire  at  the  coroner's  inquiry  ?  " 

"  In  such  affairs  an  inquest  is  rather  a  hindrance  to  the 
police.  It  is  better  to  lull  the  guilty  person  or  persons 
into  the  belief  that  the  crime  has  passed  into  oblivion. 
They  know  as  well  as  we  do  that  Lady  Dyke  is  buried  at 
Putney.  We  have  failed  to  establish  her  identity  by  the 
evidence  of  the  husband  and  servants.  The  linen  and 

[28] 


The  Lady's  Maid 

clothes,  our  sole  effective  testimony,  remain  in  our  pos- 
session; so,  taking  everything  into  consideration,  I  prefer 
that  matters  should  remain  as  they  are  for  the  present." 

"Really,  Mr.  White,  I  congratulate  you.  You  will 
perhaps  pardon  me  for  saying  that  some  of  your  colleagues 
do  not  usually  take  so  sensible  a  view." 

The  policeman  smiled  at  the  compliment.  "I  am 
learning  your  method,  Mr.  Bruce,"  he  said. 

As  he  spoke,  Smith  entered  with  a  note  endorsed 
"Urgent." 

It  was  in  the  handwriting  of  Sir  Charles  Dyke,  and 
even  the  imperturbable  barrister  could  not  resist  an 
exclamation  of  amazement  when  he  read: 

"  MY  DEAR  BRUCE,  —  My  wife's  maid  has  vanished. 
She  has  not  been  near  the  house  for  three  days.  The 
thing  came  to  my  ears  owing  to  gossip  amongst  the  ser- 
vants. There  is  something  maddening  about  these  occur- 
rences. I  really  cannot  stand  any  more.  Do  come  to 
see  me,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

"Well,  I'm  jiggered!"  said  the  detective.  "The 
blessed  girl  must  have  been  spirited  away  a  few  hours 
after  I  saw  her.  Maybe,  Mr.  Bruce,  we  are  all  wrong. 
Has  she  gone  to  join  her  mistress  ? " 

"Possibly  —  in  the  next  world." 

Nothing  would  shake  the  barrister's  belief  that  Alice, 
Lady  Dyke,  was  dead. 


[29] 


CHAPTER  IV 
NO.  61  RALEIGH  MANSIONS 

REALLY,  the  maid  deserved  to  have  her  ears  pulled. 

People  in  her  walk  in  life  should  not  ape  their  betters. 
Lady  Dyke,  owing  to  her  position,  was  entitled  to  some 
degree  of  oddity  or  mystery  in  her  behavior.  But  for  a 
lady's  maid  to  so  upset  the  entire  household  at  Wensley 
House,  Portman  Square,  was  intolerable. 

Sir  Charles  became,  if  possible,  more  miserable;  the 
butler  fumed;  the  housekeeper  said  that  the  girl  was 
always  a  forward  minx,  and  the  footman  winked  at  But- 
tons, as  much  as  to  say  that  he  knew  a  good  deal  if  he 
liked  to  talk. 

The  police  were  as  greatly  baffled  by  this  latter  incident 
as  by  its  predecessor.  The  movements  of  the  maid  were 
quite  unknown.  No  one  could  tell  definitely  when  she 
left  the  house.  Her  fellow-servants  described  the  dress 
she  probably  wore,  as  all  her  other  belongings  were  in  her 
bed-room;  but  beyond  the  fact  that  her  name  was  Jane 
Harding,  and  that  she  had  not  returned  to  her  home  in 
Lincolnshire,  the  police  could  find  no  further  clue. 

So,  in  brief,  Jane  Harding  quickly  joined  Lady  Dyke 
in  the  limbo  of  forgetfulness,, 

Bruce,  however,  forgot  nothing.  Indeed,  he  rejoiced 
at  this  new  development. 

"The  greater  the  apparent  mystery,"  he  communed, 

[30] 


No.  61  Raleigh  Mansions 

"the  less  it  is  in  reality.  We  now  have  two  tracks  to 
follow.  They  are  both  hidden,  it  is  true,  but  when  we 
find  one,  it  will  probably  intersect  the  other." 

The  new  year  was  a  few  days  old  when  Bruce  made  his 
first  step  through  the  bewildering  maze  which  seemed  to 
bar  progress  on  every  side.  He  received  a  report  from 
the  man,  a  pensioned  police-officer,  who  had  conducted 
a  painstaking  search  into  the  history  and  occupation  of 
every  inhabitant  of  Raleigh  Mansions. 

Two  items  the  barrister  fastened  on  to  at  once. 

"At  No.  12,  top  floor  right,  entrance  by  first  door  on 
Sloane  Square  side,  is  a  small  flat  occupied  by  a  man 
named  Sydney  H.  Corbett.  He  passes  as  an  American, 
but  is  probably  an  Englishman  who  has  resided  in  the 
United  States.  He  does  not  mix  with  other  Americans 
in  London,  and  is  of  irregular  habits.  He  frequents  race 
meetings  and  sporting  clubs,  is  reported  to  belong  to  a 
Piccadilly  club  where  high  play  is  the  rule,  and  has  no 
definite  occupation.  He  occasionally  visits  a  lady  who 
lives  at  No.  61,  same  mansions,  ground  floor,  and  sixth 
door.  They  have  been  heard  to  quarrel  seriously,  and 
the  dispute  appears  always  to  have  concerned  money. 
Corbett  went  to  Monte  Carlo  early  in  December.  His 
address  there  is  'Hotel  du  Cercle,'  and  the  local  post- 
office  has  a  supply  of  stamped  and  addressed  envelopes  in 
which  to  forward  his  correspondence." 

"At  No.  61,  as  already  described,  resides  Mrs.  Gwen- 
doline Hillmer.  She  lives  in  good  style,  rents  a  brougham 
and  a  victoria,  and  is  either  a  wealthy  widow  or  main- 
tained by  some  one  of  means.  She  dresses  well,  and  goes 
out  a  good  deal  to  theatres,  but  otherwise  leads  a  rather 
lonely  life.  Her  most  frequent  visitor  is,  or  was,  a  gen- 
tleman who  looked  like  an  officer  in  the  Guards,  and, 

[31] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

much  less  often,  the  aforesaid  Sydney  H.  Corbett.  Her 
servants,  except  the  maid,  live  out.  The  maid,  who  is  a 
sort  of  companion,  is  talkative,  but  does  not  know  much, 
or,  if  she  does,  will  not  speak." 

Bruce  weighed  these  statements  very  carefully.  They 
did  not  contain  any  positive  facts  that  promised  well  for 
the  elucidation  of  Lady  Dyke's  visit  to  the  mansions  on 
that  fateful  November  evening,  but  the  absolute  color- 
lessness  of  the  reports  concerning  the  other  occupants 
rendered  them  quite  impossible  of  individual  distinction. 

After  an  hour  of  puzzled  thought  the  barrister  finally 
decided  upon  a  course  of  action.  He  would  see  Mrs. 
Gwendoline  Hillmer,  and  trust  to  luck  in  the  way  of 
discoveries. 

A  quiet  smile  lit  up  his  handsome,  regular  features  as 
he  proceeded  to  array  himself  in  the  most  fashionable 
clothes  he  possessed,  paying  the  utmost  attention  to  every 
detail  in  a  manner  that  amazed  his  valet. 

When  at  last  that  worthy  was  despatched  to  the  nearest 
florist's  for  a  boutonniere,  he  communicated  his  bewilder- 
ment to  the  hall-porter. 

"My  guv'nor's  going  out  on  the  mash,"  he  said  con- 
fidentially. "  I  thought  he  would  never  look  at  a  woman ; 
but,  bless  you,  Jim,  we're  all  alike.  When  the  day  comes 
we  all  rush  after  a  petticoat." 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  when  Bruce  walked  down 
Victoria  Street.  For  some  reason,  he  did  not  call  a  han- 
som, and  it  was  almost  with  a  start  that  he  found  himself 
purchasing  a  ticket  to  Sloane  Square  at  the  Underground 
Railway  office.  At  this  precise  hour  and  place  he  had 
last  seen  Lady  Alice  on  earth.  The  memory  nerved  him 
to  his  purpose. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  pressed  the  electric  bell  of  No.  61 

[32] 


No.  61  Raleigh  Mansions 

Raleigh  Mansions.  As  he  listened  to  the  slight  jar  of  the 
indicator  within,  he  smiled  at  the  apparent  fatuity  of  his 
mission. 

He  had  one  card,  perhaps  a  weak  one,  to  play,  it  was 
true,  but  he  hoped  that  circumstances  might  prevent  this 
from  being  tabled  too  early  in  the  game. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  youthful  housemaid  stood 
before  him,  the  simple  wonder  in  her  eyes  showing  that 
such  visitors  were  rare. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Hillmer  at  home  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I'll  see  sir,  if  you  give  me  your  name." 

"  Surely  you  know  whether  or  not  she  is  at  home  ?  " 

The  girl  stammered  and  blushed  at  this  unexpected 
query.  "  Well,  sir,"  she  said,  "my  mistress  is  in,  but  I  do 
not  know  if  she  can  receive  any  one.  She  is  dressed  to  go 
out." 

"Ah!  that's  better.  Now,  take  her  my  card,  and  say 
that  while  I  will  not  detain  her,  my  business  is  very 
important,"  This  with  a  sweet  smile  that  put  the  flurried 
maid  entirely  at  her  ease. 

The  girl  withdrew,  after  hesitating  for  a  moment  to 
decide  the  important  question  as  to  whether  or  not  she 
should  close  the  door  in  his  face. 

Another  smile,  and  she  did  not. 

He  was  thus  free  to  note  the  luxurious  and  tasteful  air 
of  the  general  appointments,  for  the  entrance  hall  usually 
reveals  much  of  the  characteristics  of  the  inmates.  Here 
was  every  evidence  of  refinement  and  wealth.  All  the 
display  had  not  been  lavished  on  the  drawing-room. 

As  he  waited,  conscious  of  the  fact  that  his  colloquy 
with  the  servant  had  been  overheard,  a  lady  crossed  from 
one  room  to  the  other  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  Her 
smart  but  simple  dress,  and  the  quick  scrutiny  she  gave 

[33] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

him,  as  though  discovering  his  presence  accidentally, 
caused  him  to  believe  —  rightly,  as  it  transpired  —  that 
this  was  the  maid-companion  described  by  his  assistant. 

Not  only  had  she  obviously  made  her  appearance  in 
order  to  look  at  him,  but  the  housemaid  had  carried  his 
message  to  a  different  section  of  the  flat. 

The  girl  returned.  "  My  mistress  will  see  you  in  a  few 
minutes,"  she  said.  "Will  you  kindly  step  into  the 
dining-room  ?  " 

He  followed  her,  sat  down  in  a  position  where  the  strong 
glare  of  the  electric  lamps  would  fall  on  any  one  who  stood 
opposite,  and  waited  developments. 

The  furniture  was  solid  and  appropriate,  the  carpet 
rich,  and  the  pictures,  engravings  for  the  most  part,  ex- 
cellent. This  pleasant  room,  warmed  by  a  cheerful  fire, 
impressed  Bruce  as  a  place  much  used  by  the  household. 
Books  and  work-baskets  were  scattered  about,  and  a 
piano,  littered  with  music,  filled  a  corner.  There  were  a 
few  photographs  of  persons  and  places,  but  he  had  not 
time  to  examine  these  before  the  lady  of  the  house  entered. 

Her  appearance,  for  some  reason  inexplicable  to  the 
barrister  himself,  took  him  by  surprise.  She  was  tall, 
graceful,  extremely  good-looking,  and  dressed  in  a  style 
of  quiet  elegance.  Just  the  sort  of  woman  one  would 
expect  to  find  in  such  a  well-appointed  abode,  yet  more 
refined  in  manner  than  Bruce,  from  his  knowledge  of  the 
world,  thought  he  would  meet,  judging  by  the  hasty  in- 
ferences drawn  from  his  subordinate's  report.  She  was 
self-possessed,  too.  With  calm  tone,  and  slightly  elevated 
eyebrows,  she  said: 

"You  wish  to  see  me,  I  understand?" 

"Yes.  Allow  me  first  to  apologize  for  the  hour  at 
which  I  have  called." 

[34] 


No.  61  Raleigh  Mansions 

"  No  apology  is  necessary.  But  I  am  going  out.  Per- 
haps you  will  be  good  enough  not  to  detain  me  longer  than 
is  absolutely  necessary." 

She  stood  between  the  table  and  the  door.  Bruce,  who 
had  risen  at  her  entrance,  was  at  the  other  side  of  the 
room.  Her  words,  no  less  than  her  attitude,  showed  that 
she  desired  the  interview  to  be  brief.  But  the  barrister 
resolved  that  he  wrould  not  be  repelled  so  coolly. 

Advancing,  with  a  bow  and  that  fascinating  smile  of 
his,  he  said,  pulling  forward  a  chair: 

"Won't  you  be  seated?" 

The  lady  looked  at  him.  She  saw  a  man  of  fine  phy- 
sique and  undoubted  good  breeding.  She  hesitated. 
There  was  no  reason  to  be  rude  to  him,  so  she  sat  down. 

Claude  drew  a  chair  to  the  other  side  of  the  hearthrug, 
and  commenced: 

"  I  have  ventured  to  seek  this  interview  for  the  purpose 
of  making  some  inquiries." 

"I  thought  so.  Are  you  a  policeman?"  The  words 
were  blurted  out  impetuously,  a  trifle  complainingly, 
but  Bruce  gave  no  sign  of  the  interest  they  had  for 
him. 

"Good  gracious,  no,"  he  cried.  "Why  should  you 
think  that?" 

"Because  two  detectives  have  been  bothering  me,  and 
every  other  person  in  these  mansions,  about  some  myste- 
rious lady  who  called  here  two  months  ago.  They  don't 
know  where  she  called,  nor  will  they  state  her  name ;  as  if 
any  one  could  possibly  know  anything  about  it.  So  I 
naturally  thought  you  were  on  the  same  errand." 

"Confound  that  rascal  White,"  growled  he  to  himself. 

But  Mrs.  Hillmer  went  on :  "  If  that  is  not  your  business, 
would  you  mind  telling  me  what  it  is  ?  " 

[35] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Now  Bruce's  alert  brain  had  been  actively  engaged 
during  the  last  few  seconds.  This  woman  was  not  the 
clever,  specious  adventuress  he  had  half  expected  to  meet. 
It  seemed  more  than  ever  unlikely  that  she  could  have 
any  knowledge  of  Lady  Dyke  or  the  causes  that  led  to  her 
disappearance.  He  was  tempted  to  frame  some  excuse 
and  take  his  departure.  But  the  certainty  that  his  missing 
friend  had  visited  Raleigh  Mansions,  and  the  necessity 
there  was  for  exploiting  every  line  of  inquiry,  impelled  him 
to  adopt  this  last  resource. 

"It  is  not  concerning  a  missing  lady,  but  concerning  a 
missing  gentleman  that  I  have  come  to  see  you." 

The  shot  went  home. 

Why,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  tell,  but  his  com- 
panion was  manifestly  disturbed  at  his  words. 

"Oh,"  she  said. 

Then,  after  a  little  pause :  "  May  I  ask  his  name  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     He  is  known  as  Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett." 

She  gave  a  slight  gasp. 

"  Why  do  you  put  it  in  that  way  ?  Is  not  that  his  right 
name  ?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  it  is  not." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  was  so  obviously  distressed  that  Bruce 
inwardly  reviled  himself  for  causing  her  so  much  unneces- 
sary suffering.  In  all  probability,  the  source  of  her 
emotion  had  not  the  remotest  bearing  upon  his  quest. 

Then  came  the  pertinent  query,  after  a  glance  at  his 
card,  which  she  still  held  in  her  hand: 

"  Who  are  you,  Mr.  —  Mr.  Claude  Bruce  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  member  of  the  Bar,  of  the  Inner  Temple.  My 
chambers  are  No.  7  Paper  Buildings,  and  my  private 
residence  is  given  there." 

"  And  why  are  you  interested  in  Mr.  Sydney  Corbett  ?  " 

[36] 


No.  61  Raleigh  Mansions 

"Ah,  in  that  respect  I  am  at  this  moment  unable  to 
enlighten  you." 

"  Unable,  or  unwilling  ?  " 

He  indulged  in  a  quiet  piece  of  fencing: 

"Really,  Mrs.  HiUmer,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  here  as  in 
any  sense  hostile  to  you.  I  merely  want  some  detailed 
information  with  regard  to  this  gentleman,  information 
which  you  may  be  able  to  give  me.  That  is  all." 

All  this  time  he  knew  that  the  woman  was  scrutinizing 
him  narrowly  —  trying  to  weigh  him  up  as  it  were,  not 
because  she  feared  him,  but  rather  to  discover  the  true 
motive  of  his  presence. 

Personally,  he  had  never  faced  a  more  difficult  task  than 
this  make-believe  investigation.  He  could  have  laughed 
at  the  apparent  want  of  connection  between  Lady  Dyke's 
ill-fated  visit  to  Raleigh  Mansions  and  this  worrying  of  a 
beautiful,  pleasant-mannered  woman,  who  was  surely 
neither  a  principal  nor  an  accomplice  in  a  ghastly  crime. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  may  consider  myself  in  the  hands  of 
counsel.  Tell  me  what  it  is  you  want  to  know!"  Mrs. 
Hillmer  pouted,  with  the  air  of  a  child  about  to  undergo 
a  scolding. 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Corbett's  present 
address  ?  "  he  said. 

"No.  I  have  neither  seen  him  nor  heard  from  him 
since  early  in  November." 

"  Can  you  be  more  precise  about  the  period  ?  " 

"Yes,  perhaps."  She  arose,  took  from  a  drawer  in 
the  sideboard  a  packet  of  bills  —  receipted,  he  observed  — 
searched  through  them  and  found  the  document  she  sought. 
"I  purchased  a  few  articles  about  that  time,"  she  ex- 
plained, "  and  the  account  for  them  is  dated  November  15. 
I  had  not  seen  my  — "  She  blushed,  became  confused, 

[37] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

laughed  a  little,  and  went  on.  "I  had  not  seen  Mr. 
Corbett  for  at  least  a  week  before  that  date  —  say  Novem- 
ber 8th  or  9th." 

Lady  Dyke  disappeared  on  the  evening  of  the  6th! 

Bruce  swallowed  his  astonishment  at  the  odd  coinci- 
dence of  dates,  for  he  said,  with  an  encouraging  laugh, 
"  Out  with  it,  Mrs.  Hillmer.  You  were  about  to  describe 
Mr.  Corbett  correctly  when  you  recollected  yourself." 

Mrs.  Hillmer,  still  coloring  and  becoming  saucily 
cheerful,  cried,  "  Why  should  I  trouble  myself  when  you, 
of  course,  know  all  that  I  can  tell  you,  and  probably 
more?  He  is  my  brother,  and  a  pretty  tiresome  sort  of 
relation,  too." 

"I  am  obliged  for  your  confidence.  In  return,  I  am 
free  to  state  that  your  brother  is  now  in  the  South  of 
France." 

"As  you  are  here,  Mr.  Bruce,"  she  said,  "I  may  as 
well  get  some  advice  gratis.  Can  people  writ  him  in 
the  South  of  France?  Can  they  ask  me  to  pay  his 
debts?" 

"Under  ordinary  circumstances  they  can  do  neither. 
Certainly  not  the  latter." 

"I  hope  not.  But  they  sometimes  come  very  near  to 
it,  as  I  know  to  my  cost." 

"Indeed!    How?" 

Mrs.  Hillmer  hesitated.  Her  smile  was  a  trifle  scornful, 
and  her  color  rose  again  as  she  answered:  "People  are 
not  averse  to  taking  advantage  of  circumstances.  I  have 
had  some  experience  of  this  trait  in  debt-collectors  already. 
But  they  must  be  careful.  You,  as  a  legal  man,  must 
know  that  demands  urged  on  account  of  personal  reasons 
may  come  very  near  to  levying  blackmail." 

"  Surely,  Mrs.  Hillmer,  you  do  not  suspect  me  of  being 

[38] 


No.  61  Raleigh  Mansions 

a  dun.  Perish  the  thought !  You  could  never  be  in  debt 
to  me." 

"Very  nice  of  you.  Don't  you  represent  those  people 
on  Leadenhall  Street,  then?" 

"  What  people  ?  " 

"Messrs.  Dodge   &  Co." 

"No;  why  do  you  ask?" 

"Because  my  brother  entered  into  what  he  called  a 
'  deal '  with  them.  He  underwrote  some  shares  in  a  South 
African  mine,  as  a  nominal  affair,  he  told  me,  and  now 
they  want  him  to  pay  for  them  because  the  company  is  not 
supported  by  the  public." 

"No,  I  do  not  represent  Dodge  &  Co." 

"Is  there  something  else  then?  Whom  do  you  repre- 
sent?" 

"To  be  as  precise  as  permissible,  I  may  say  that  my 
inquiries  in  no  sense  affect  financial  matters." 

"What  then?" 

"Well,  there  is  a  woman  in  the  case." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  was  evidently  both  relieved  and  interested. 

"  No,  you  don't  say,"  she  said.  "  Tell  me  all  about  it. 
I  never  knew  Bertie  to  be  much  taken  up  with  the  fair 
sex.  I  am  all  curiosity.  Who  is  she?" 

He  did  not  take  advantage  of  the  mention  of  a  name 
which  in  no  way  stood  for  Sydney.  Besides,  perhaps  the 
initial  stood  for  Herbert.  He  resolved  to  try  another  tack. 

Glancing  at  his  watch  he  said:  "It  is  nearly  seven 
o'clock.  I  have  already  detained  you  an  unconscionable 
time.  You  were  going  out.  Permit  me  to  call  again, 
and  we  can  discuss  matters  at  leisure." 

He  rose,  and  the  lady  sighed :  "  You  were  just  beginning 
to  be  entertaining.  I  was  only  going  to  dine  at  a  restau- 
rant. I  am  quite  tired  of  being  alone." 

[39] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Was  it  a  hintP  He  would  see.  "Are  you  dining  by 
yourself,  then,  Mrs.  Hillmer?'3 

"  I  hardly  know,     I  may  bring  my  maid." 

Claude  now  made  up  his  mind.  "May  I  venture,"  he 
said,  "  after  such  an  informal  introduction,  to  ask  you  to 
dine  with  me  at  the  Prince's  Restaurant,  and  afterwards, 
perhaps,  to  look  in  at  the  Jollity  Theatre  ? " 

The  lady  was  unfeignedly  pleased.  She  arranged  to 
call  for  him  in  her  brougham  within  twenty  minutes,  and 
Bruce  hurried  off  to  Victoria  Street  in  a  hansom  to  dress 
for  this  unexpected  branch  of  the  detective  business. 

When  he  told  his  valet  to  telephone  to  the  restaurant  and 
the  theatre  respectively  for  a  reserved  table  and  a  couple 
of  stalls,  that  worthy  chuckled. 

When  his  master  entered  a  brougham  in  which  was 
seated  a  fur-wrapped  lady,  the  valet  grinned  broadly. 
"I  knew  it,"  he  said.  "The  guv'nor's  on  the  mash. 
Now,  who  would  ever  have  thought  it  of  him  ? " 


[40] 


CHAPTER  V 
AT  THE  JOLLITY  THEATRE 

BY  tacit  consent,  Claude  and  his  fair  companion 
dropped  for  the  hour  the  roles  of  inquisitor  and  witness. 

They  were  both  excellent  talkers,  they  were  mutually 
interested,  and  there  was  in  their  present  escapade  a 
spice  of  that  romance  not  so  lacking  in  the  humdrum  life 
of  London  as  is  generally  supposed  to  be  the  case. 

Bruce  did  not  ask  himself  what  tangible  result  he  ex- 
pected from  this  quaint  outcome  of  his  visit  to  Sloane 
Square.  It  was  too  soon  yet.  He  must  trust  to  the 
vagaries  of  chance  to  elucidate  many  things  now  hidden. 
Meanwhile  a  good  dinner,  a  bright  theatre,  and  the  society 
of  a  smart,  nice-looking  woman,  were  more  than  tolerable 
substitutes  for  progress. 

As  a  partial  explanation  of  his  somewhat  eccentric  be- 
havior, he  volunteered  a  lively  account  of  a  recent  cause 
celebre,  in  which  he  had  taken  a  part,  but  the  details  of 
which  had  been  rigidly  kept  from  the  public.  He  more 
than  hinted  that  Mr.  Sydney  Corbett  had  figured  promi- 
nently in  the  affair;  and  Mrs.  Hillmer  laughed  with  unre- 
strained mirth  at  the  unwonted  appearance  of  her  brother 
in  the  character  of  a  Lothario. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Bruce  confidentially,  when  a  couple  of 
glasses  of  Moet  '89  had  consolidated  friendly  relations, 
"  what  sort  of  a  fellow  in  this  brother  of  yours  ?  " 

[41] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Not  in  any  sense  a  bad  boy,  but  a  trifle  wild.  He  will 
not  live  an  ordinary  life,  and  at  times  he  has  been  hard 
pressed  to  live  at  all.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  this  scrape 
he  blundered  into  with  Messrs.  Dodge  &  Co.  that  induced 
him  to  masquerade  temporarily  under  an  assumed  name." 

"  Then  what  is  his  real  name  ?  " 

"  Ah,  now  you  are  pumping  me  again.     I  refuse  to  tell." 

"But  there  are  generally  serious  reasons  when  a  man 
disguises  himself  in  such  fashion." 

"The  reason  he  gave  me  was  that  he  dreaded  being 
writted  for  liability  regarding  the  shares  I  mentioned  to 
you.  It  was  good  enough.  Now  you  come  with  this 
story  of  meddling  with  somebody  else's  wife.  Surely  this 
is  an  additional  reason.  I  supplied  him  with  funds  until 
we  quarrelled,  and  then  he  went  off  in  a  huff." 

"  What  did  you  quarrel  about.  ?" 

"That  concerns  me  only."  Mrs.  Hillmer  was  so 
emphatic  that  Bruce  dropped  the  subject. 

When  they  drove  to  the  theatre  Mrs.  Hillmer,  on 
alighting  at  the  entrance,  said  to  her  coachman,  "You 
may  return  home  now,  and  bring  Dobson  to  meet  me  at 
11.15." 

"May  I  venture  to  inquire  who  Dobson  is?"  said 
Claude. 

"  Certainly.     Dobson  is  my  maid." 

This  woman  puzzled  him  the  more  he  saw  of  her.  He 
was  now  quite  positive  that  she  lived  on  the  fringe  of 
Society.  Her  status  was,  at  the  best,  dubious.  Yet  he 
had  never  heard  of  her  before,  nor  met  her  in  public. 
None  of  his  friends  were  known  to  her,  and  she  mentioned 
no  one  beyond  those  popular  personages  who  are  connu 
of  all  the  world.  She  was  obviously  wealthy  and  refined, 
with  more  than  a  spice  of  unconventionality.  At  times, 

[42] 


At  the  Jollity   Theatre 

too,  beneath  her  habitual  expressions  of  lively  and  viva- 
cious interest,  there  was  a  touch  of  melancholy. 

For  an  instant  her  face  grew  sad  when  her  eyes  rested 
on  a  typical  family  party  of  father,  mother,  and  two  girls 
who  occupied  seats  in  the  row  of  stalls  directly  in  front  of 
her. 

For  some  reason  Bruce  felt  sorry  for  Mrs.  Hillmer.  He 
regretted  that  the  exigencies  of  his  quest  forced  him  to 
make  her  his  dupe,  and  he  resolved  that,  if  by  any  chance 
her  scapegrace  brother  were  concerned  in  Lady  Dyke's 
death,  Mrs.  Hillmer  should,  if  possible,  be  spared  personal 
humiliation  or  disgrace. 

Indeed,  he  had  formed  such  a  favorable  opinion  of  her 
that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  conduct  his  future  inves- 
tigations without  causing  her  to  assist  involuntarily  in 
putting  a  halter  around  her  relative's  neck. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  getting  some 
further  information,  as  the  lady  herself  paved  the  way  for 
it.  Her  comments  betrayed  such  an  accurate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  technique  of  the  stage  that  he  said  to  her, 
"  You  must  have  acted  a  good  deal  ?  " 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  very  much.  But  I  was  stage 
struck  when  young." 

"  But  you  have  not  appeared  in  public  ?  " 

"Yes,  some  six  years  ago.  I  worked  so  hard  that  I 
fell  ill,  and  then  —  then  I  got  married." 

"  Do  you  go  out  much  to  theatres,  nowadays  ? " 

"Very  little.  It  is  lonely  by  oneself,  and  there  are  so 
few  plays  worth  seeing." 

Bruce  wondered  why  she  insisted  so  strongly  upon  the 
isolation  of  her  existence.  In  his  new-found  sympathy  he 
forebore  to  question,  and  she  continued: 

"When  I  do  visit  a  theatre  I  amuse  myself  mostly  by 

[43] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

silent  criticism  of  the  actors  and  actresses.  Not  that  I 
could  do  better  than  many  of  them,  or  half  so  well,  but  it 
passes  the  time." 

"I  hope  you  do  not  regard  killing  time  as  your  main 
occupation  ?  " 

"  It  is  so,  I  fear,  however  hard  I  may  strive  otherwise." 
And  again  that  shadow  of  regret  darkened  the  fair 
face. 

Some  one  in  front  turned  round  and  glared  at  them 
angrily,  for  the  famous  comedian,  Mr.  Prospect  Ricks, 
was  singing  his  deservedly  famous  song,  "It  was  all 
because  I  buttoned  up  her  boots,"  so  the  conversation 
dropped  for  the  moment. 

Claude  focussed  his  opera-glasses  on  the  stage.  While 
his  eyes  wandered  idly  over  the  pretty  faces  and  shapely 
limbs  of  the  coryphees  his  brain  was  busy  piecing  together 
all  that  he  had  heard.  The  odd  coincidence  of  the  dates 
of  Lady  Dyke's  murder  and  the  speedy  departure  of  the 
self-styled  Sydney  Corbett  for  the  Riviera  would  require 
a  good  deal  of  explanation  by  the  latter  gentleman. 

True,  it  was  not  the  barrister's  habit  to  jump  at  conclu- 
sions. There  might  be  a  perfectly  valid  motive  for  the 
journey.  If  the  man  did  not  desire  his  whereabouts  to  be 
known,  why  did  he  leave  his  address  at  the  post-office? 

And,  then,  what  possible  reason  could  Lady  Dyke  have 
in  visiting  him  voluntarily  and  secretly  at  his  chambers 
in  Raleigh  Mansions  ?  This  virtuous  and  high-princi- 
pled lady  could  have  nothing  in  common  with  a  careless 
adventurer,  taking  the  most  lenient  view  of  his  sister's 
description  of  him.  And  as  Bruce's  subtle  brain  strove 
vainly  to  match  the  queer  fragments  of  the  puzzle,  his 
keen  eyes  roved  over  the  stage  in  aimless  activity. 

Suddenly  they  paused.     His  power  of  vision  and  mental 

[44] 


At  the  Jollity  Theatre 

analysis  were  alike  inadequate  to  the  new  and  startling 
fact  which  had  obtruded  itself,  unasked  and  unsought  for, 
upon  his  sight. 

Among  the  least  prominent  of  the  chorus  girls,  posturing 
and  moving  with  the  stiffness  and  visible  anxiety  of  the 
novice,  who  is  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  glare  of  the 
footlights  upon  undraped  limbs,  was  one  in  whose  every 
gesture  Bruce  took  an  absorbing  interest. 

He  was  endowed  in  full  measure  with  that  prime  req- 
uisite in  the  detection  of  criminals,  an  unusually  good 
memory  for  faces,  together  with  the  artistic  faculty  of 
catching  the  true  expression. 

Hence  it  was  that,  after  the  whirl  of  a  dancing  chorus 
had  for  a  few  seconds  brought  this  particular  member  of 
the  company  close  to  the  proscenium,  Bruce  became  quite 
sure  of  having  developed  at  least  one  branch  of  his  inquiry 
within  measurable  distance  of  its  conclusion. 

The  girl  on  the  stage  was  Jane  Harding,  Lady  Dyke's 
maid. 

When  her  features  first  flashed  upon  his  conscious  gaze 
he  could  hardly  credit  the  discovery.  But  each  instant 
of  prolonged  scrutiny  placed  the  fact  beyond  doubt.  Not 
even  the  make-up  and  the  elaborate  wig  could  conceal  the 
contour  of  her  pretty  if  insipid  face,  and  a  slight  trick  she 
had  of  drooping  the  left  eyelid  when  thinking  confirmed 
him  in  his  belief. 

So  astounded  was  he  at  this  sequel  to  his  visit  to  the 
theatre,  that  he  utilized  every  opportunity  of  a  full  stage 
to  examine  still  further  the  appearance  and  style  of  this 
strange  apparition. 

When  the  curtain  fell  and  Jane  Harding  had  vanished, 
he  was  brought  back  to  actuality  by  Mrs.  Hillmer's  voice. 

"  Fie,  Mr.  Bruce.     You  are  taking  altogether  too  much 

[45] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

notice  of  one  of  the  fair  ladies  in  front.  Which  one  is  it  ? 
The  tall  standard  bearer  or  the  little  girl  who  pirouettes 
so  gracefully  ?  " 

"  Neither,  I  assure  you.  I  was  taken  up  by  wondering 
how  a  young  woman  manages  to  secure  employment  in  a 
theatre  for  the  first  time." 

"I  think  I  can  tell  you.  Influence  goes  a  long  way. 
Talent  occasionally  counts.  Then,  a  well-known  agent 
may,  for  a  nominal  fee,  get  an  opening  for  a  handsome, 
well-built  girl  who  has  taken  lessons  from  either  himself 
or  some  of  his  friends  in  dancing  or  singing,  or  both." 

"  Is  such  a  thing  possible  for  a  domestic  servant  ?  " 

"It  all  depends  upon  the  domestic  servant's  circle  of 
acquaintances.  As  a  rule,  I  should  say  not.  A  theatre 
like  this  requires  a  higher  average  of  intelligence." 

This,  and  more,  Bruce  well  knew,  but  he  was  only 
making  conversation,  while  he  thought  intently,  almost 
fiercely,  upon  the  latest  phase  of  his  strange  quest. 

During  the  third  act  he  devoted  more  time  to  Mrs. 
Hillmer.  If  that  sprightly  dame  were  a  little  astonished 
at  the  celerity  with  which  he  conducted  her  to  her  carriage 
and  the  waiting  Dobson,  it  was  banished  by  the  nice  way 
in  which  he  thanked  her  for  the  pleasure  she  had  conferred. 

"The  enjoyment  has  been  mostly  on  my  side,"  she 
cried,  as  he  stood  near  the  window  of  her  brougham. 
"Come  to  see  me  again  soon." 

He  bowed,  and  would  have  said  something  if  an  im- 
perious policeman  had  not  ordered  the  coachman  to  make 
way  for  the  next  vehicle.  So  Mrs.  Hillmer  was  whisked 
into  the  traffic. 

From  force  of  habit,  he  glanced  casually  at  the  crowd 
struggling  through  the  exit  of  the  theatre,  and  he  caught 
sight  of  Mr.  White,  who,  too  late,  averted  his  round  eyes 

[46] 


At  the  Jollity   Theatre 

and  strove  to  shield  his  portly  form  in  the  portico  of  a 
neighboring  restaurant. 

He  did  not  want  to  be  bothered  by  the  detective  just 
then.  He  lit  a  cigarette,  and  Mr.  White  slid  off  quietly 
into  the  stream  of  traffic,  finally  crossing  the  road  and 
jumping  on  to  a  Charing  Cross  'bus. 

"  So,"  said  Claude  to  himself,  "  White  has  been  watching 
Raleigh  Mansions,  and  watching  me  too.  Ton  my  honor, 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  suspected  me  of  the  murder !  I'm 
glad  I  saw  him  just  now.  For  the  next  couple  of  hours 
I  wish  to  be  free  from  his  interference." 

Waiting  a  few  moments  to  make  sure  that  White  had 
not  detailed  an  aide-de-camp  to  continue  the  surveillance, 
he  buttoned  his  overcoat  to  the  chin,  tilted  his  hat  forward, 
and  strolled  round  to  the  stage  door  of  the  Jollity  Theatre. 


[47] 


CHAPTER  VI 
MISS  MARIE  LE  MARCHANT 

THE  uncertain  rays  of  a  weak  lamp,  struggling  through 
panes  dulled  by  dirt  and  black  letters,  cast  a  fitful  light 
about  the  precincts  of  the  stage-door. 

Elderly  women  and  broken-down  men,  slovenly  and 
unkempt,  kept  furtive  guard  over  the  exit,  waiting  for  the 
particular  "  super "  to  come  forth  who  would  propose  the 
expected  adjournment  to  a  favorite  public-house.  Some 
smart  broughams,  a  four-wheeler,  and  a  few  hansoms, 
formed  a  close  line  along  the  pavement,  which  was  soon 
crowded  with  the  hundred  odd  hangers-on  of  a  theatre  — 
scene-shifters,  gasmen,  limelight  men,  members  of  the 
orchestra,  dressers,  and  attendants  —  mingling  with  the 
small  stream  of  artistes  constantly  pouring  out  into  the  cold 
night  after  a  casual  inquiry  for  letters  at  the  office  of  the 
doorkeeper. 

This  being  a  fashionable  place  of  amusement  there  were 
not  wanting  several  representatives  of  the  gilded  youth, 
some  obviously  ginger-bread  or  "  unleavened  "  imitations, 
others  callow  specimens-  of  the  genuine  article. 

Bruce  paid  little  heed  to  them  as  they  impudently 
peered  beneath  each  broad-leafed  and  high-feathered  hat 
to  discover  the  charmer  honored  by  their  chivalrous 
attentions. 

Yet  the  presence  of  this  brigade  of  light-headed  cavaliers 

[48] 


Miss  Marie  le  Marchant 

helped  the  barrister  far  more  than  he  could  have  foreseen 
or  even  hoped. 

At  last  the  ex-lady's  maid  appeared,  dressed  in  a  showy 
winter  costume  and  jaunty  toque.  She  was  on  very 
friendly  terms  with  two  older  girls,  on  whom  the  stage  had 
set  its  ineffaceable  seal,  and  the  reason  was  soon  apparent. 

"  Come  along,"  she  cried,  her  words  being  evidently 
intended  to  have  an  effect  on  others  in  the  throng  less 
favored  than  those  whom  she  addressed;  "let  us  get  into 
a  hansom  and  go  to  Scott's  for  supper.  Here,  cabby!" 

She  was  on  the  step  of  a  hansom  when  a  tall,  good- 
looking  boy,  faultlessly  dressed,  and  with  something  of 
Sandhurst  or  Woolwich  in  his  carriage,  darted  forward. 

"  Hello,  Millie,"  he  said  to  one  of  Jane  Harding's  com- 
panions. "  How  are  you  ?  A  couple  of  fellows  have  come 
up  with  me  for  the  night.  Let's  all  go  and  have  something 
to  eat  at  the  Duke's,"  thereby  indicating  a  well-known 
club  usually  patronized  by  higher  class  artistes  than  this 
trio. 

After  a  series  of  introductions  by  Christian  names, 
among  which  Bruce  failed  to  catch  the  word  "  Jane,"  the 
party  went  off  in  three  hansoms,  a  pair  in  each. 

Claude  was  not  a  member  of  the  "  Duke's,"  though  he 
had  often  been  there.  But  there  was  a  man  close  at  hand 
who  was  a  member  of  everything  in  London  that  in  any 
way  pertained  to  things  theatrical.  Every  one  knew  Billy 
Sadler  and  Billy  Sadler  knew  every  one.  A  brief  run  in 
a  cab  to  a  theatre,  a  restaurant,  and  another  restaurant, 
revealed  the  large-hearted  Billy,  drinking  a  whisky  and 
soda  and  relating  to  a  friend,  with  great  gusto  and  much 
gesticulation,  the  very  latest  quarrel  between  the  stage- 
manager  and  the  leading  lady.  He  hailed  Claude  with 
enthusiasm. 

[49] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Ton  my  soul,  Bruce,  old  chap,  haven't  seen  you  for 
an  age.  Where  have  you  bin  ?  An'  what's  the  little  game 
now?" 

Mr.  Sadler  was  fully  aware  of  the  barrister's  penchant 
for  investigating  mysteries.  The  two  had  often  fore- 
gathered in  the  past. 

Are  you  "  busy  "  ?  said  Bruce. 

"Not  a  bit.  By-bye,  Jack.  See  you  at  luncheon 
to-morrow  at  the  Gorgonzola.  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  come  with  me  to  the  '  Duke's.'  There's 
a  young  lady  there  I'm  interested  in." 

Billy  squeezed  round  in  the  hansom,  which  was  now 
bowling  across  a  corner  of  Trafalgar  Square. 

"You,"  he  cried.  "After  a  girl!  Is  she  in  the  pro- 
fession ?  Is  mamma  frightened  about  her  angel  ?  The 
correct  figure  for  a  breach  just  now,  my  boy,  is  five  thou'." 

"Oh,  it's  nothing  serious.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it 
when  matters  have  cleared  a  bit.  It  is  a  mere  item  in  a 
really  big  story.  But,  here  we  are.  Take  me  straight  to 
the  supper-room." 

As  they  entered  the  comfortable,  brightly  lit  club  the 
strains  of  a  band  came  pleasantly  to  their  ears,  and  in  a 
minute  they  were  installed  at  a  corner  table  in  the  splendid 
room  devoted  to  the  most  cheery  of  all  gatherings  —  a 
Bohemian  meal  when  the  labors  of  the  night  are  past. 

Bruce  soon  marked  his  quarry.  Jane  Harding  was  in 
great  form  —  eating,  drinking,  and  talking  at  the  same 
time. 

"  Who  is  that,  Billy  ?  "  he  said,  indicating  the  girl. 

Sadler  carefully  balanced  his  pince-nez  on  his  well- 
defined  nose,  gazed,  and  laughed:  "Goodness  knows. 
She's  a  new-comer,  and  not  much  at  the  best.  Do  you 
know  where  she  carries  a  banner?" 

[50] 


Miss  Marie  le  Marchant 

"At  the  Jollity." 

"  Oh !  then  here's  our  man  "  —  for  a  Mephistophelian 
gentleman  was  passing  at  the  moment.  "Say,  Rosen- 
heim, who's  the  new  coryphee  over  there  ?  " 

Mephistopheles  halted,  looked  at  Jane  and  laughed, 
too.  "Her  name  is  Miss  Marie  le  Marchant;  but  as  she 
happened  to  be  born  in  London  she  pronounces  it  Mahrie 
Lee  Mahshuns,  with  the  accent  on  the  '  Mahs.'  Anything 
else  you  would  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  stuck  on  her!    Where  did  you  pick  her  up  ? " 

"She's  a  housemaid,  or  something  of  the  sort.  Came 
into  money.  Wants  to  knock  'em  on  the  stige.  The  rest 
is  easy." 

"  Has  she  been  with  you  long  ?  "  put  in  Claude,  as  their 
informant  was  the  under-manager  of  the  Jollity. 

Mr.  Rosenheim  glanced  at  him.  Sadler,  he  knew,  had 
no  interest  in  the  girl,  and  the  barrister  did  not  quite 
possess  the  juvenile  appearance  that  warranted  such 
solicitude. 

"She  joined  us  just  before  Christmas.  What's  up? 
Is  she  really  worth  a  lot  of  'oof  ?  " 

"I  should  imagine  not,"  laughed  Bruce;  and  Mr. 
Rosenheim  joined  another  group. 

Supper  ended,  Marie  and  Millie,  and  eke  Flossie,  at- 
tended by  their  swains,  discussed  coffee  and  cognac  in  the 
foyer. 

Chance  separated  Miss  le  Marchant,  as  she  may  now 
be  known,  momentarily  from  the  others,  and  Bruce 
darted  forward. 

"Good-evening,"  he  said.  "I  am  delighted  to  meet 
you  here." 

The  girl  recognized  him  instantly.  She  would  have 
denied  her  identity,  but  her  nerve  failed  her  before  those 

[51] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

steadfast,  penetrating  eyes.  Moreover,  it  was  not  an  ill 
thing  for  such  a  well-bred,  well-dressed  man  to  acknowl- 
edge her  so  openly. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Bruce,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of 
assurance,  though  her  voice  faltered  a  little. 

He  resolved  to  make  the  situation  easy. 

"We  have  not  met  for  such  a  long  time,"  he  said;  " and 
I  am  simply  dying  to  have  a  talk  with  you.  I  am  sure 
your  friends  will  pardon  me  if  I  carry  you  off  for  five 
minutes  to  a  quiet  corner." 

With  a  simper,  Miss  le  Marchant  took  his  proffered  arm, 
and  they  went  off  to  an  unoccupied  table. 

"Now,  Jane  Harding,"  said  he,  with  some  degree  of 
sternness  in  his  manner,  "be  good  enough  to  explain  to 
me  why  you  are  passing  under  a  false  name,  and  the  reasons 
which  led  you  to  leave  Sir  Charles  Dyke's  house  in  such 
a  particularly  disagreeable  way." 

"  Disagreeable  ?  I  only  left  in  a  hurry.  Who  had  any 
right  to  stop  me  ?  " 

"  No  one,  in  a  sense,  except  that  Sir  Charles  Dyke  may 
feel  inclined  to  prosecute  you." 

"  For  what,  Mr.  Bruce  ?  " 

This  emancipated  servant  girl  was  not  such  a  simpleton 
as  she  looked.  It  was  necessary  to  frighten  her  and  at 
the  same  time  to  force  her  to  admit  the  facts  with  reference 
to  her  sensational  flight  from  Wensley  House. 

"You  must  know,"  he  said,  "that  Sir  Charles  Dyke  can 
proceed  against  you  in  the  County  Court  to  recover  wages 
in  lieu  of  notice,  and  this  would  be  far  from  pleasant  for 
you  in  your  new  surroundings." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that.  But  why  should  Sir  Charles  Dyke, 
or  you,  or  any  other  gentleman,  want  to  destroy  a  poor 
girl's  prospects  in  that  fashion?" 

[52] 


Miss  Marie  le  Marchant 

"Surely,  you  must  feel  that  some  explanation  is  due  to 
us  for  your  extraordinary  behavior?" 

"No,  I  don't  feel  a  bit  like  it." 

"  But  why  did  you  go  away  ?  " 

"To  suit  myself." 

"  Could  you  not  have  given  notice  ?  Why  was  it  neces- 
sary to  create  a  further  scandal  in  addition  to  the  disap- 
pearance of  your  unfortunate  mistress  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that.  It  was  thoughtless,  I  admit.  If 
I  had  to  act  over  again  I  should  have  done  differently. 
But  what  does  it  matter  now  ?  " 

"  It  matters  this  much  —  that  the  police  must  be  in- 
formed of  your  existence,  as  they  are  searching  for  you, 
believing  that  you  are  in  some  way  mixed  up  with  Lady 
Dyke's  death. 

The  girl  started  violently,  and  she  flushed,  rather  with 
anger  than  alarm,  Bruce  thought,  as  he  watched  her 
narrowly. 

"The  police,  indeed,"  she  snorted;  "what  have  the 
police  to  do  with  me?  A  nice  thing  you're  saying,  Mr. 
Bruce." 

"I  am  merely  telling  you  the  naked  truth." 

"  All  right.  Tell  them.  I  don't  care  a  pin  for  them  or 
you.  Have  you  anything  else  to  say,  because  I  wish  to 
join  my  friends  ?  " 

The  girl's  language  and  attitude  mystified  him  more 
than  any  preceding  feature  of  this  remarkable  investiga- 
tion. She  was,  of  course,  far  better  educated  than  he  had 
imagined,  and  the  difference  between  the  hysterical  witness 
at  the  coroner's  inquiry  and  this  pert,  self-possessed  young 
woman  was  phenomenal.  •* 

Rather  than  risk  an  open  rupture,  the  barrister  tem- 
porized. "  If  you  are  anxious  to  quarrel  with  me,  by  all 

[53] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

means  do  so,"  he  said;  "but  that  was  not  my  motive  in 
speaking  to  you  here  to-night." 

Miss  le  Marchant  shot  a  suspicious  glance  at  him. 
"Then  what  was  your  motive,"  she  said. 

"Chiefly  to  reassure  my  friend,  your  former  master, 
concerning  you;  and,  perhaps,  to  learn  the  cause  of  your 
very  strange  conduct." 

"Why  should  Sir  Charles  bother  his  head  about 
me?" 

"As  I  have  told  you.  Because  of  the  coincidence  be- 
tween your  departure  and  Lady  — " 

"Oh  yes,  I  know  that."  Then  she  added  testily:  "I 
was  a  fool  not  to  manage  differently." 

"  So  you  refuse  me  an  explanation  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't.  I  have  no  reason  to  do  so.  I  came  in 
for  some  money,  and  as  I  have  longed  all  my  life  to  be  an 
actress  I  could  not  wait  an  hour,  a  moment,  before  I  — 
before  I—" 

"Before  you  tried  to  gratify  your  impulse." 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  wanted  to  say." 

"  But  why  not  at  least  have  written  to  Sir  Charles,  telling 
him  of  your  intentions  ?  " 

The  fair  Marie  was  silent  for  a  moment.  The  question 
confused  her.  "I  hardly  know,"  she  replied. 

"Will  you  write  to  him  now?" 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should." 

"  Indeed.  Not  even  when  it  was  you  who  gave  some  of 
your  mistress's  underclothing  to  Mr.  White,  by  which 
means  he  was  able  to  identify  the  body  found  at  Putney 
as  that  of  Lady  Dyke?" 

"Mr.  White  told  you  that,  did  he?" 

"He  did." 

"Then  you  had  better  get  him  to  give  you  all  further 

[54] 


Miss  Marie  le  Marchant 

information,  Mr.  Bruce,  as  not  another  word  will  you  get 
out  of  me." 

She  bounced  up,  fiery  red,  pluming  herself  for  the  fray. 

"  Will  you  not  communicate  with  Sir  Charles  ?  "  he  said, 
utterly  baffled  by  Miss  le  Marchant's  uncompromising 
attitude. 

"Perhaps  I  will  and  perhaps  I  won't.  Mr.  White, 
indeed!"  And  she  ran  off  to  join  her  friends. 

The  barrister  drove  quietly  homewards.  This  was  his 
summary  of  the  evening's  events:  "I  have  found  two 
women.  When  I  know  all  about  them  I  shall  be  able  to 
lay  my  hand  on  the  person  who  killed  Lady  Dyke." 


[55] 


CHAPTER  VII 
IN  THE  CITY 

MESSRS.  DODGE  &  Co.,  of  Leadenhall  Street,  possessed 
business  premises  of  greater  pretensions  than  Bruce  had 
pictured  to  himself  from  Mrs.  Hillmer's  description  of 
their  transactions  with  her  brother. 

Not  only  were  their  offices  commodious  and  well  sit- 
uated, but  a  liberal  display  of  gold  lettering,  intermingled 
with  official  brass  plates  marking  the  registering  offices  of 
many  companies,  gave  evidence  of  some  degree  of  im- 
portance —  whether  fictitious  or  otherwise  Bruce  could 
not  determine,  as  he  scrutinized  the  exterior  of  the  building 
on  the  following  morning. 

Moreover,  workmen  were  even  then  busy  in  substituting 
the  title  "Dodge,  Son  &  Co.,  Ltd.,"  for  "Messrs.  Dodge 
&  Company,"  the  suggestive  nature  of  the  latter  designa- 
tion having  perhaps  proved  a  stumbling-block  in  the  way 
of  the  guileless  investor. 

When  the  barrister  entered  the  office,  a  busy  place,  a 
hive  of  many  clerks,  and  adorned  with  gigantic  maps  of 
the  Rand,  West  Australia,  Cripple  Creek,  and  Klondike, 
he  asked  for  "  Mr.  Dodge." 

His  card  procured  him  ready  admission.  He  was 
shown  into  an  elaborately  upholstered  apartment  of  con- 
siderable size.  At  the  farther  end,  seated  in  front  of  a 
gorgeous  American  desk,  was  a  young  man  who  ostenta- 

[56] 


In  the  City 

tiously  finished  a  letter  and  then  motioned  the  barrister  to 
a  seat. 

Bruce  was  curious  on  the  question  of  the  age  of  the 
head  of  the  firm. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Dodge,  or  the  son  ? "  he  said,  with  the 
utmost  gravity. 

The  other  was  taken  back  by  this  unexpected  method 
of  opening  the  conversation.  It  annoyed  him. 

"  I  am  the  representative  of  the  firm,  sir,  and  fully  able  to 
deal  with  your  business,  whatever  it  may  be,"  he  replied. 

"No  doubt.  But  it  will  simplify  matters  if  I  know 
exactly  to  whom  I  am  addressing  myself." 

After  an  uneasy  shuffling  in  his  seat  —  he  could  not 
guess  what  this  keen-faced,  earnest-eyed  lawyer  might 
want  —  the  representative  of  Messrs.  Dodge,  Son  &  Co. 
(Limited)  explained  that  he  was  Dodge,  and  the  name  of 
the  firm  had  been  adopted  for  general  purposes. 

"Then  there  is  no  'son/  I  take  it." 

"Yes,  there  is,  sir,"  —  this  with  a  snort  of  anger. 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"  What  the  Dickens  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  Will 
you  kindly  tell  me  what  you  want,  sir,  as  my  time  is  fully 
occupied  ?  " 

"  Just  now  I  want  to  know  how  old  the  '  son '  is  ?  " 

This  calm  persistence  irritated  Mr.  Dodge  beyond 
endurance. 

"Three  years,  confound  you,  and  his  sister  is  four 
months.  Can  I  oblige  you  with  any  more  details  concern- 
ing my  family  affairs  ?  " 

Having  purposely  raised  this  man  to  boiling  point  by 
this  harmless  method  of  examination,  Claude  tackled  the 
real  business  in  hand.  He  was  quite  sure  that  a  financial 
sharper  in  a  temper  was  far  more  likely  to  blurt  out  the 

[57] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

truth  than  if  he  were  approached  in  a  matter-of-fact 
manner. 

"To  begin  with,"  he  explained,  never  taking  his  eyes 
off  the  furious  face  of  Mr.  Dodge,  "I  have  called  to  ask 
for  information  with  regard  to  your  dealings  with  Mr. 
Sydney  H.  Corbett,  of  Raleigh  Mansions,  Sloane  Square." 

"  I  never  heard  of  him  in  my  life.  You  have  evidently 
come  to  the  wrong  office,  Mr.  Bruce." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  " 

"  Well,  nearly  so.  However,  I  can  tell  you  in  a  moment, 
as  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  carry  every  name  connected 
with  several  companies  in  my  memory." 

Mr.  Dodge  recovered  his  temper  now  that  he  saw  a 
chance  of  disconcerting  his  caustic  visitor.  He  touched 
an  electric  bell,  and  told  the  answering  youth  to  send  Mr. 
Hawkins. 

"My  correspondence  clerk,"  he  explained  loftily  when 
Hawkins  entered.  "Are  we  in  communication  with  any 
one  named  Sydney  H.  Corbett,  Mr.  Hawkins?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  the  name?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  That  will  do.  You  may  go.  You  see  you  have  come 
to  the  wrong  shop,  Mr.  Bruce." 

"Yes,  so  I  see." 

The  barrister  kept  looking  at  the  back  of  Mr.  Dodge's 
head,  but  made  no  move. 

Mr.  Dodge  became  puzzled. 

"Now,  Mr.  Bruce,"  he  cried,  "you  know  the  age  of  my 
son,  and  the  extent  of  my  information  about  Mr.  Corbett. 
Is  there  anything  else  in  which  I  may  be  of  service  ? " 

"  Yes.  You  do  a  great  deal  of  underwriting,  mostly  for 
the  flotation  of  gold-mining  companies  ?  " 

[58] 


In  the  City 

"Y — yes.     That  is  a  branch  of  our  business." 

"  I  am  interested  in  this  class  of  undertaking,  and  I  was 
given  to  understand  that  Mr.  Corbett  has  had  some 
dealings  with  you  in  a  similar  respect  for  a  considerable 
sum  of  money." 

"The  name  is  absolutely  unknown  to  me." 

"Of  course.  So  I  gather.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it. 
Several  clients  of  mine  have  money  to  invest  in  that  way, 
and  I  naturally  came  to  a  firm  whose  name  apparently 
figured  largely  in  the  transactions  of  Mr.  Corbett." 

It  was  good  to  see  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Dodge 
metaphorically  kicked  himself  for  his  previous  attitude. 
His  emotion  was  painful.  For  quite  an  appreciable  time 
he  could  not  trust  his  sentiments  to  words. 

At  last  he  struggled  to  express  himself. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Bruce,  if  you  had  only  put  things  differ- 
ently. Don't  you  see,  it  rather  upset  me  when  you  came 
in  and  began  jawing  about  the  youngsters.  And  then  you 
spring  Mr.  Corbett's  name  on  me  —  a  man  of  whom  I 
have  no  sort  of  knowledge.  It  must  have  been  my  firm 
of  which  your  friends  heard.  There  is  absolutely  no  other 
Dodge  in  Leadenhall  Street.  Indeed,  we  are  the  only 
financial  Dodges  —  that  is  —  er  —  Messrs.  Dodge,  Son  & 
Co.  (Limited)  are  the  only  firm  of  the  name  dealing  with 
financial  matters  —  in  the  city. 

By  this  time  Bruce  had  assured  himself  that  Mr.  Dodge 
did  not  know  Mr.  Corbett's  identity,  and  if  Mrs.  Hillmer's 
brother  had  changed  his  name  to  conceal  himself  from 
Dodge,  it  was  likely  to  be  successful. 

"Anyhow,  I  am  here,  Mr.  Dodge,"  he  said  cheerfully, 
"  so  I  may  as  well  enter  into  negotiations  with  you.  Have 
you  any  good  things  in  hand  at  this  moment?" 

"  Some  of  the  best.     We  are  just  waiting  for  the  market 

[59] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

to  ease  a  bit,  and  we  shall  have  at  least  five  splendid 
properties  to  place  before  the  public.  By  the  way,  do 
you  smoke?" 

Bruce  did  smoke;  and  Mr.  Dodge  produced  a  box  of 
excellent  cigars.  Then  he  warmed  to  his  work. 

"Here  is  the  prospectus  of  the  Golden  Halo  Mine, 
capital  .£150,000,  for  which  the  vendors  are  asking  £140,- 
000  in  cash,  with  a  working  capital  of  £10,000.  The  ore 
now  in  sight  is  estimated  to  produce  two  millions  sterling, 
and  the  mine  is  not  one-tenth  developed.  We  are  offering 
underwriters  ten  per  cent  in  cash,  and  there  is  not  the 
slightest  risk,  as  the  shares  will  stand  at  a  high  premium 
within  a  few  days  after  the  lists  — " 

"It  sounds  most  promising,"  said  Bruce;  "but  my 
principals  are  more  interested  in  taking  up  concerns  which 
have  been  already  established,  but  in  which,  for  want  of 
sufficient  capital,  the  vendors'  shares  have,  by  a  process  of 
reconstruction,  come  into  the  market.  If  you  have 
anything  of  that  kind  — 

"The  very  thing,"  interrupted  Dodge  excitedly.  "The 
Springbok  Mine  will  just  suit  'em.  After  all  is  said  and 
done,  Golden  Halos  are  a  bit  in  the  air,  between  you  and 
me.  But  the  Springbok  is  a  genuine  article.  It  was 
capitalized  for  a  quarter  of  a  million,  and  the  directors 
went  to  allotment  on  a  subscription  list  of  about  £14,000. 
This  money  has  been  expended,  but  twice  the  amount  is 
necessary  to  develop  the  property  properly.  A  call  was 
made  on  the  shares,  but  no  one  paid  up,  and  there  is  a 
talk  of  compulsory  reconstruction.  Believe  me,  money 
put  into  it  now  will  yield  two  hundred  per  cent,  in  divi- 
dends within  twelve  months." 

"  There  is  a  whiff  of  scent  on  this  trail,"  said  Claude  to 

[60] 


In  the  City 

himself.  He  added  aloud :  "  That  looks  promising.  Can 
you  give  me  details?" 

"By  all  means.  Here  is  the  original  prospectus." 
Bruce  glanced  through  the  document,  which  dealt  with 
the  Springbok  claims  on  the  Rand  with  more  candor  than 
is  usually  exhibited  in  such  compilations.  Judging  from 
the  reports  of  several  mining  engineers  of  repute  it  really 
looked  as  if,  this  time,  Mr.  Dodge  were  speaking  with 
some  degree  of  accuracy. 

"This  reads  well,"  said  Bruce.  "What  proportion  of 
share  capital  is  falling  in  on  the  reconstruction  scheme  ?  " 

"I  hold  fifty  thousand  shares  myself,"  cried  Dodge, 
"and  though  my  money  is  locked  up  just  now  I  am  so 
convinced  about  this  mine  that  I  will  manage  to  pay  the 
call  myself.  Roughly  speaking,  there  are  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  shares  to  be  underwritten  at,  say, 
three  shillings  each." 

"  And  who  are  the  present  holders  ?  " 

The  barrister  asked  the  question  in  the  most  uncon- 
cerned way  imaginable,  yet  upon  the  answer  depended 
the  whole  success  or  otherwise  of  this  hitherto  unproduc- 
tive mission. 

Mr.  Dodge  was  manifestly  anxious. 

"I  take  it  that  we  are  talking  with  a  definite  view  to 
business  ?  "  he  said. 

The  barrister  hesitated.  Even  in  the  detection  of  a 
crime  a  man  does  not  care  to  tell  a  deliberate  lie,  and 
Dodge's  attitude  so  far  had  been  candid  enough.  The 
Springbok  Mine  honestly  looked  to  be  a  good  speculative 
investment,  so  he  resolved  to  place  the  proposition  before 
one  or  two  friends  who  dealt  with  similar  matters,  and 
who  were  fully  able  to  look  after  their  own  interests. 

[61] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  am  here  for  that  purpose.  If 
my  principals  like  this  tiling  they  will  go  in  for  it." 

"Then  here  is  the  vendors'  list,"  said  Mr.  Dodge, 
taking  a  foolscap  sheet  from  a  drawer. 

Claude  perused  it  nonchalantly.  His  quick  eyes  took 
in  each  name  and  address  out  of  half-a-dozen,  and  rejected 
all  as  being  in  no  way  connected  with  the  man  whose 
antecedents  he  was  seeking. 

Yet,  where  possible,  he  left  nothing  to  chance. 

"Have  you  any  objection  to  a  copy  being  made?"  he 
asked. 

Mr.  Dodge  hummed  doubtfully. 

"You  see,"  went  on  the  barrister,  "it  is  best  to  be  quite 
candid  with  people  whom  you  wish  to  bring  into  risky  if 
apparently  high  promising  ventures.  I  presume  these 
gentlemen  are  moneyless.  If  so,  it  is  a  factor  in  favor  of 
your  scheme.  Should  any  of  them  be  men  of  means,  my 
principals  would  naturally  ask  why  they  did  not  them- 
selves underwrite  the  shares." 

Mr.  Dodge  was  convinced.  "  From  that  point  of  view," 
he  cried  emphatically,  "they  are  above  suspicion.  Jot 
them  down,  sir." 

The  barrister  armed  himself  with  the  necessary  docu- 
ments, and  they  parted  with  mutual  good  wishes.  It  was 
only  after  reflection  that  Mr.  Dodge  saw  how  remarkably 
little  he  had  got  out  of  the  interview.  "He  was  a  jolly 
smart  chap,"  communed  the  company  promoter.  "I 
wonder  what  he  was  really  after.  And  who  the  dickens 
is  Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett?  Anyhow,  the  Springbok 
business  is  quite  above  board.  How  can  I  raise  the  wind 
for  my  little  lot?" 

If  Mr.  Bruce  had  probed  more  deeply  Mr.  Dodge's 
holding,  he  would  have  been  saved  much  future  perturba- 

[62] 


In  the  City 

tion.  But,  clever  as  he  was,  he  did  not  know  all  the 
methods  of  financial  juggling  practised  by  experts  on  the 
Stock  Exchange. 

A  hansom  brought  him  quickly  to  Portman  Square. 
In  fulfilment  of  his  promise,  he  was  about  to  place  Sir 
Charles  Dyke  in  possession  of  his  recent  discoveries. 

When  the  door  of  Wensley  House  opened,  the  butler, 
Thompson,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  hall,  anticipated 
the  footman's  answer  to  Bruce's  inquiry. 

"  Sir  Chawles  left  yesterday  for  Bournemouth,  sir.  'E 
was  that  hovercome  by  the  weather  an'  his  trouble  that  'e 
has  gone  for  a  few  days'  rest  at  the  seaside.  If  you  called, 
sir,  I  was  to  tell  you  'e  would  be  glad  to  see  you  there 
should  you  find  it  convenient  to  run  down.  And,  sir, 
you'll  never  guess  who  came  'ere  this  morning,  as  bold  as 
brass." 

"Jane  Harding." 

"Now,  'ow  upon  earth  can  you  'it  upon  things  that 
way,  sir?  It  was  'er,  'er  very  self.  And  you  ought  to 
'ave  seen  her  airs.  'Thompson,'  sez  she,  'is  Sir  Chawles 
at  'ome  ? '  '  No,  'e  isn't,'  sez  I;  '  but  you're  wanted  at  the 
polis  station.'  She  was  in  a  keb,  and  she  'ad  asked  a 
butcher's  boy  to  pull  the  bell,  so  'im  and  the  cabby  larfed. 
'Thompson,'  she  said,  very  red  in  the  face,  'I'll  'ave  you 
dismissed  for  your  impidence.'  An'  off  she  went.  Did 
you  ever  'ear  anythink  like  it,  sir  ?  " 

"No,  Thompson,  Miss  Harding  is  certainly  a  cool 
hand." 

Bruce  walked  to  his  chambers,  and  his  stroll  through 
the  parks  was  engrossed  by  one  subject  of  thought.  It 
was  not  Mrs.  Hillmer,  nor  Corbett,  nor  Dodge  who 
troubled  him.  What  puzzled  him  more  than  all  else  was 
the  "impidence"  of  Jane  Harding. 

[63] 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE   HOTEL  DU  CERCLE 

BRUCE  did  not  go  to  Bournemouth. 

He  quitted  London  by  the  next  mail,  and  after  a  weari- 
some journey  of  thirty-six  hours,  found  himself  in  the 
garden  courtyard  of  the  Hotel  du  Cercle  at  Monte  Carlo. 

Refreshed  by  a  bath  and  an  excellent  dejeuner,  he  de- 
cided to  go  quietly  to  work  and  search  the  vis.'tors'  book 
for  himself  without  asking  any  questions.  The  Hotel  du 
Cercle  was  a  popular  resort,  and  it  took  him  some  time, 
largely  devoted  to  the  elucidation  of  hieroglyphic  signa- 
tures, before  he  was  quite  satisfied  that  no  one  even  re- 
motely suggestive  of  the  name  of  Sydney  H.  Corbett  had 
recorded  his  presence  in  the  hotel  since  the  first  week  in 
November. 

The  barrister,  for  the  first  time,  began  to  doubt  Mrs. 
Hillmer.  Twice  had  her  statements  not  been  verified  by 
facts.  It  was  with  an  expression  of  keen  annoyance  at  his 
own  folly  in  trusting  so  much  to  a  favorable  impression 
that  he  turned  to  the  hotel  clerk  to  ask  if  the  name  of 
Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett  was  familiar  to  him. 

The  courteous  Frenchman  screwed  up  his  forehead  into 
a  reflective  frown  before  he  answered:  "  But  yes,  monsieur. 
Me,  I  have  not  seen  the  gentleman,  but  he  exists.  There 
have  been  letters  —  two,  three  letters." 

"  Ah,  letters !    Has  he  received  them  ?  " 

[64] 


The  Hotel  du  Cercle 

The  attendant  examined  a  green  baize-covered  board, 
decorated  with  diamonds  of  tape,  in  which  was  stuck  an 
assortment  of  letters,  mostly  addressed  to  American 
tourists. 

"They  were  here!  They  have  gone!  Then  he  has 
taken  them!" 

"Yes,"  cried  Bruce;  "but  surely  you  know  something 
about  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     This  hall  is  open  to  all  the  world." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  that  any  one  can  come  here  and  take 
any  letters  which  may  be  stuck  in  that  rack  ?  " 

"Will  the  gentleman  be  pleased  to  consider?  Many 
persons  give  their  address  here  days  and  weeks  before  they 
come  to  arrive.  Some  persons,  in  the  manner  of  Monte 
Carlo,  do  not  wish  their  names  to  be  known  of  everybody. 
We  cannot  distinguish.  We  do  not  allow  the  address  of 
the  hotel  to  be  used  improperly,  if  we  know  it;  but  there 
are  no  complaints." 

The  barrister  did  not  argue  the  matter  further.  He 
only  said :  "  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  thus  far,  as  I  am  very 
anxious  to  meet  Mr.  Corbett.  About  how  long  is  it  since 
the  last  letter  came  for  him  ?  " 

"But  certainly.  It  came  yesterday.  It  was  re-ad- 
dressed from  some  place  in  London.  If  possible,  with 
the  next  one  I  will  keep  watch  for  Mr.  Corbett." 

So  Mrs.  Hillmer  had  not  misled  him.  The  so-called 
Corbett  was  in  Monte  Carlo,  but  had  possibly  disguised 
himself  under  another  name.  Again  did  Bruce  consult 
the  hotel  register,  this  time  with  the  aid  of  the  vendors' 
list  in  the  Springbok  Mine,  but  without  result. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  familiarize  himself  with 
Monte  Carlo  and  its  habitues,  awaiting  developments  in 
the  chase  of  Corbett.  In  January,  when  London  alter- 

[65] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

nates  between  fog  and  sleet,  it  is  not  an  intolerable  thing 
to  remain  in  forced  idleness  amid  the  sunshine  and  flowers 
of  the  Riviera.  There  are  two  ways  of  "doing"  Monte 
Carlo.  You  may  live  riotously,  lose  your  substance  at 
the  Casino,  and  go  home  on  a  free  ticket  supplied  by  the 
proprietors  of  the  gambling  saloons,  or  you  may  enjoy  to 
the  utmost  the  keen  air,  magnificent  scenery,  fine  prome- 
nades, and  excellent  music  —  the  two  latter  provided  by 
the  same  benevolent  agency. 

It  is  needless  to  say  which  of  these  alternatives  appealed 
to  Claude  Bruce.  Being  a  rich  man,  it  was  of  no  conse- 
quence to  him  to  lose  a  few  louis  in  backing  the  red  for  a 
five  minutes'  bit  of  excitement.  Being  a  sensible  one,  he 
then  quitted  the  Casino  and  went  for  a  stroll  in  the 
gardens. 

Fashion,  backed  by  the  doctors,  has  decreed  that  no 
longer  shall  the  northern  littoral  of  the  Mediterranean  be 
the  only  haven  of  rest  for  those  afflicted  with  pulmonary 
complaints.  Weak-chested  and  consumptive  people  are 
now  banished  to  the  windless  and  icy  altitudes  of 
Switzerland;  so  of  recent  years  a  walk  through  Nice, 
Mentone,  or  Monte  Carlo  itself  is  not  such  a  depressing 
experience  as  it  was  when  every  second  person  encountered 
was  a  hopeless  invalid. 

A  pigeon-shooting  match  was  in  progress,  and,  as  Bruce 
fell  in  with  a  friend  who  took  a  prominent  part  in  local 
life,  the  two  entered  the  club  grounds  to  watch  the  contest. 

At  the  moment  a  handsome,  well-set-up  young  English- 
man was  shooting  off  a  tie  with  a  Russian  count.  A  very 
pretty  girl,  with  a  delicate  and  refined  beauty  enhanced  by 
a  pleasant  expression,  was  taking  a  most  unfeminine  in- 
terest in  the  slaughter  of  the  pigeons  by  the  Englishman. 

Her  eyes  spoke  her  thoughts.     It  was  as  if  they  said: 

[66] 


The  Hotel  du  Cercle 

"  I  do  not  want  the  birds  to  be  killed,  but  I  want  a  certain 
person  to  win." 

Nine  birds  each  had  been  grassed,  and  the  Russian  was 
growing  impatient.  The  Englishman  was  cool,  his  fair 
backer  keenly  excited.  The  Count  fired  and  missed  his 
tenth.  Up  rose  the  Englishman's  bird,  and  the  girl  could 
not  restrain  an  impetuous  "Now!" 

So  the  Englishman  missed  also. 

Amidst  the  buzz  of  comment  which  arose,  Bruce  said 
to  his  companion :  "  What's  going  on  ?  " 

"This  is  the  final  tie  in  the  International.  It  is  a  big 
prize,  and  each  man  has  backed  himself  heavily.  The 
two  are  Albert  Mensmore  and  Count  Bischkoff.  The  girl 
has  taken  all  the  nerve  out  of  Mensmore.  Bar  accident, 
he  is  a  goner." 

The  cynic  was  right.  In  the  thirteenth  round  the 
count  alone  scored,  and  smiled  largely  in  response  to  his 
antagonist's  quiet  congratulations.  As  for  the  girl,  it  was 
with  difficulty  she  restrained  her  tears. 

"  I  think  that  we  have  witnessed  a  tragedy,"  said  Bruce's 
acquaintance  as  they  walked  off;  and  the  barrister  agreed 
with  him.  He  was  sorry  for  Mensmore  and  his  pretty 
supporter.  Mayhap  the  loss  of  the  match  meant  a  great 
deal  to  both  of  them. 

That  night  he  learned  by  chance  that  Mensmore  lived 
at  the  Hotel  du  Cercle.  He  met  him  in  the  billiard-room 
and  tried  to  inveigle  him  into  conversation.  But  the 
young  fellow  was  too  miserable  to  respond  to  his  advances. 
Beyond  a  mere  civil  acknowledgement  of  some  slight  act 
of  politeness,  Bruce  could  not  draw  him  out. 

Next  morning  he  saw  Mensmore  again.  If  the  man 
looked  haggard  the  previous  evening  his  appearance  now 
was  positively  startling,  that  is,  to  one  of  Bruce's  powers 

[67] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

of  observation.  Ninety-nine  men  out  of  a  hundred  would 
have  seen  that  Mensmore  had  not  slept  well.  Bruce  was 
assured  that,  for  some  reason,  the  other's  brain  was 
dominated  by  some  overwhelming  idea,  and  one  which 
might  eventuate  in  a  tragic  manner  were  it  to  be  allowed 
to  go  unchecked. 

For  some  reason  he  took  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  his 
unfortunate  fellow-countryman,  and  determined  to  help 
him  if  the  opportunity  presented  itself. 

It  came,  with  dramatic  rapidity. 

During  dinner  he  noticed  that  Mensmore  was  in  such 
a  state  of  mental  disturbance  that  he  ate  and  drank  with 
the  air  of  one  who  is  feverishly  wasting  rather  than 
replenishing  his  strength. 

Soon  after  eight  o'clock,  at  the  hour  when  frequenters 
of  the  Casino  go  there  in  order  to  secure  a  seat  for  the 
evening's  play,  Mensmore  quitted  the  dining-room. 
Bruce  followed  him  unobstrusively,  and  was  just  in  time 
to  see  him  enter  the  lift. 

The  barrister  waited  in  the  hall,  having  first  secured 
his  hat  and  overcoat  from  the  bureau,  where  he  happened 
to  have  left  them. 

Even  while  he  noted  the  descending  lift,  in  which  he 
could  see  Mensmore,  who  had  donned  a  light  covert  coat, 
the  breast  of  which  bulged  somewhat  on  the  left  side,  the 
hotel  clerk  came  to  him,  triumphantly  holding  a  letter. 

"And  now,  monsieur,"  cried  the  clerk,  "we  shall  see 
what  we  shall  see." 

The  missive  was  addressed  to  the  mysterious  Sydney 
H.  Corbett,  and  had  been  forwarded  by  the  Sloane  Square 
Post-Office. 

With  a  clang  the  door  of  the  lift  swung  open  and  Mens- 
more hastened  out.  Bruce  had  to  decide  instantly  be- 

[68] 


The  Hotel  du  Cercle 

tween  the  chance  of  seeing  Corbett  with  his  own  eyes  and 
pursuing  the  fanciful  errand  he  had  mapped  out  in 
imagination  with  reference  to  the  stranger  who  so  in- 
terested him. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  to  the  clerk.  "I  am  going  to 
the  Casino  for  an  hour;  you  will  greatly  oblige  me  by 
keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  any  one  who  claims  the 
letter." 

"  Monsieur,  it  shall  have  my  utmost  regard." 

The  barrister  had  not  erred  in  his  surmise  as  to  Mens- 
more's  destination.  The  young  man  walked  straight 
across  the  square  and  entered  the  grounds  of  the  famous 
Casino. 

Indoors,  an  excellent  band  was  playing  a  selection  from 
"The  Geisha."  The  spacious  foyer  was  fast  filling  with 
a  fashionable  throng;  without,  the  silver  radiance  of  the 
moon,  lighting  up  gardens,  rocks,  buildings,  and  sea, 
might  well  have  added  the  last  link  to  the  pleasant  bond- 
age that  would  keep  any  one  from  the  gambling  saloon 
that  night;  but  Mensmore  heeded  none  of  these  things. 

He  passed  the  barrier,  closely  followed  by  Bruce,  crossed 
the  foyer,  and  disappeared  through  the  baize  doors  that 
guard  the  magnificent  room  in  which  roulette  is  played. 

Round  several  of  the  tables  a  fairly  considerable  crowd 
had  gathered  already.  The  more,  the  merrier,  is  the  rule 
of  the  Casino.  There  is  something  curiously  fascinating 
for  the  gambler  in  the  presence  of  others.  It  would  seem 
to  be  an  almost  ridiculous  thing  for  a  man  to  stalk  solemnly 
up  to  a  deserted  board  and  stake  his  money  on  the  chances 
of  the  game  merely  for  the  edification  of  the  officials  in 
charge. 

Bruce  entered  the  room  soon  after  Mensmore,  and  saw 
the  latter  elbowing  his  way  to  a  seat  about  to  be  vacated 

[69] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

by  a  stout  Spanish  lady,  who  had  rapidly  lost  the  sum  she 
allowed  herself  to  stake  each  day. 

She  was  one  of  those  numerous  players  who  bring  to  the 
Casino  a  certain  amount  daily,  and  systematically  stop 
playing  when  they  have  either  lost  their  money  or  won  a 
previously  determined  maximum. 

This  method,  in  fact,  when  combined  with  a  careful 
system,  is  the  only  one  whereby  even  a  rich  individual  can 
indulge  in  a  costly  pastime,  and,  at  the  same  time,  escape 
speedy  ruin.  With  a  fair  share  of  luck  it  may  be  made  to 
pay;  with  continuous  bad  fortune  the  loss  is  spread  over 
such  a  period  that  common  sense  has  some  opportunity  to 
rescue  the  victim  before  it  is  too  late. 

Claude  took  up  a  position  from  which  he  could  note  the 
actions  of  the  stranger  in  whom  he  was  so  interested.  At 
first,  Mensmore  staked  nothing.  He  placed  a  small  pile 
of  gold  in  front  of  him ;  he  seemed  to  listen  expectantly  to 
the  croupier's  monotonous  cry  —  "  Vingt-sept,  rouge,  im- 
pair, passe"  or  " Dixhuit,  noir,  pair,  manque,"  and  so 
on,  while  the  little  ivory  ball  whirred  around  the  disc,  and 
the  long  rakes,  with  unerring  skill,  drew  in  or  pushed 
forward  the  sums  lost  or  won. 

The  dominant  expression  of  Mensmore' s  face  as  he  sat 
and  listened  was  one  of  disappointment.  Something  for 
which  he  waited  did  not  happen.  At  last,  with  a  tight- 
ening of  his  lips  and  a  gathering  sternness  in  his  eyes,  he 
placed  five  louis  on  the  red,  the  number  previously  called 
being  thirteen. 

Black  won. 

For  the  next  three  attempts,  each  time  with  a  five  louis 
stake  on  the  board,  Mensmore  backed  the  red,  but  still 
black  won. 

Next  to  him,  an  Italian,  betting  in  notes  of  a  thousand 

[70] 


The  Hotel  du  Cercle 

francs  each,  had  quadrupled  his  first  bet  by  backing  the 
black. 

Both  men  rose  simultaneously,  the  Italian  grinning 
delightedly  at  a  smart  Parisienne,  who  joyously  nodded 
her  congratulations,  the  Englishman  quiet,  utterly  un- 
moved, but  slightly  pallid. 

He  passed  out  into  the  foyer  and  stopped  to  light  a 
cigarette.  Bruce  noticed  that  his  hand  was  steady,  and 
that  all  the  air  of  excitement  had  gone. 

These  were  ill  signs.  There  is  no  man  so  calm  as  he 
who  has  deliberately  resolved  to  take  his  own  life.  That 
Mensmore  was  ruined,  that  he  was  hopelessly  in  love  with 
a  woman  whom  he  could  not  marry,  and  that  he  was  about 
to  commit  suicide,  Bruce  was  as  certain  as  though  the 
facts  had  been  proved  by  a  coroner. 

But  this  thing  should  not  happen  if  he  could  prevent  it. 

The  band  was  now  playing  one  of  Waldteufel's  waltzes. 
Mensmore  listened  to  the  fascinating  melody  for  a  mo- 
ment. He  hesitated  at  the  door  of  the  writing-room;  but 
he  went  out,  puffing  furiously  at  his  cigarette.  A  guard 
looked  at  him  as  he  turned  to  the  right  of  the  entrance, 
and  made  for  the  shaded  terraces  overlooking  the  sea. 

"  A  silent  Englishman,"  thought  the  man;  and  he  caught 
sight  of  Bruce,  also  smoking,  preoccupied,  and  solitary. 

"Another  silent  Englishman.  Mon  Dieu!  What  mis- 
erable lives  these  English  lead!" 

And  so  the  two  vanished  into  the  blackness  of  the 
foliage,  while,  within  the  brilliantly  lighted  building,  the 
frou-frou  of  silk  mingled  with  soft  laughter  and  the  sweet 
strains  of  music. 

If  it  be  true  that  extremes  meet,  then  this  was  a  night 
for  a  tragedy. 

[71] 


CHAPTER  IX 
BREAKING  THE  BANK 

THERE  were  not  many  people  in  this  part  of  the  Casino 
gardens.  A  few  love-making  couples  and  a  handful  of 
others  who  preferred  the  chilly  quietude  of  Nature  to  the 
throng  of  the  interior  promenade,  made  up  the  occupants 
of  the  winding  paths  that  cover  the  seaward  slope. 

At  last  Mensmore  halted.  There  was  no  one  in  front, 
and  he  turned  to  look  if  the  terrace  were  clear  behind  him. 
He  caught  sight  of  Bruce,  but  did  not  recognize  him,  and 
leant  against  a  low  wall,  ostensibly  to  gaze  at  the  sea  until 
the  other  had  passed. 

Claude  came  up  to  him  and  cried  cheerily: 

"  Hello !  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Mensmore  ?  Isn't  it  a  lovely 
night?" 

Mensmore,  startled  at  being  thus  unexpectedly  ad- 
dressed by  name,  wheeled  about,  stared  at  the  new-comer, 
and  said,  very  stiffly: 

"Yes;  but  I  felt  rather  seedy  in  the  Casino,  so  I  came 
here  to  be  alone." 

"Of  course,"  answered  the  barrister.  "You  look  a 
little  out  of  sorts.  Perhaps  got  a  chill,  eh  ?  It  is  danger- 
ous weather  here,  particularly  on  these  heavenly  evenings. 
Come  back  with  me  to  the  hotel,  and  have  a  stiff  brandy 
and  soda.  It  will  brace  you  up." 

Mensmore  flushed  a  little  at  this  persistence. 

[72] 


Breaking  the  Bank 

"I  tell  you,"  he  growled,  "  that  I  only  require  to  be  left 
in  peace,  and  I  shall  soon  recover  from  my  indisposition. 
I  am  awfully  obliged  to  you,  but  — 

"  But  you  wish  me  to  walk  on  and  mind  my  own  busi- 
ness ?  " 

"Not  exactly  that,  old  chap.  Please  don't  think  me 
rude.  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  can't  talk  much  to-night." 

"So  I  understand.  That  is  why  I  think  it  is  best  for 
you  to  have  company,  even  such  disagreeable  compan- 
ionship as  my  own." 

"Confound  it,  man,"  cried  the  other,  now  thoroughly 
irritated;  "tell  me  which  way  you  are  going  and  I  will 
take  the  other.  Why  on  earth  cannot  you  take  a  polite 
hint,  and  leave  me  to  myself  ? " 

"  It  is  precisely  because  I  am  good  at  taking  a  hint  that 
I  positively  refuse  to  leave  you  until  you  are  safely  landed 
at  your  hotel.  Indeed,  I  may  stick  to  you  then  for  some 
hours." 

"  The  devil  take  you !    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Exactly  what  I  say." 

"  If  you  don't  quit  this  instant  I  will  punch  your  head 
for  you." 

"Ah!  You  are  recovering  already.  But  before  you 
start  active  exercise  take  your  overcoat  off.  That  revolver 
in  the  breast  pocket  might  go  off  accidentally,  you  know. 
Besides,  as  I  shall  hit  back,  I  might  fetch  my  knuckles 
against  it,  and  that  would  be  hardly  fair.  Otherwise,  I 
can  do  as  much  in  the  punching  line  as  you  can,  any 
day." 

This  reply  utterly  disconcerted  Mensmore. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  avoiding  Bruce's  steadfast  gaze, 
"what  are  you  talking  about?  What  has  it  got  to  do 
with  you,  anyhow  ?  " 

[73] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal.  My  business  principally  consists  in 
looking  after  other  people's  affairs.  Just  now  it  is  my 
definite  intention  to  prevent  you  from  blowing  out  your 
brains,  or  what  passes  for  them." 

"  Then  all  I  can  say  is  that  I  wish  you  were  in  Jericho. 
It  is  your  own  fault  if  you  get  into  trouble  over  this  matter. 
Had  you  gone  about  your  business  I  would  have  waited. 
As  it  is—" 

It  so  happened  that  the  guard,  having  nothing  better 
to  do,  strolled  along  the  terraces  by  the  same  path  that 
Mensmore  and  Bruce  had  followed.  The  first  sight  that 
met  his  astonished  eyes,  when  in  the  flood  of  moonlight 
he  discovered  their  identity,  was  the  spectacle  of  these 
two  springing  at  each  other  like  a  pair  of  wild  cats. 

"  Parbleu,"  he  shouted,  "  the  solitary  ones  are  fighting ! " 

He  ran  forward,  drawing  his  short  sword,  ready  to  stick 
the  weapon  into  either  of  the  combatants  if  the  majesty  of 
the  law  in  his  own  person  were  not  at  once  respected. 

In  reality,  the  affair  was  simple  enough.  Mensmore 
made  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  draw  his  revolver,  and 
Bruce  pinioned  him  before  he  could  get  his  hand  up  to 
his  pocket.  Both  men  were  equally  matched,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  say  how  the  struggle  might  have  ended  had  not 
the  sword-brandishing  guard  appeared  on  the  scene. 

Claude,  even  in  this  excited  situation,  kept  his  senses. 
Mensmore,  blind  with  rage  and  the  madness  of  one  who 
would  voluntarily  plunge  into  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow, 
took  heed  of  naught  save  the  effort  to  rid  himself  of  the 
restraining  clutch. 

"Put  away  your  sword.  Seize  his  arms  from  behind. 
He  is  a  suicide,"  shouted  the  barrister  to  the  gesticulating 
and  shrieking  Frenchman. 

Fortunately,  Bruce  was  an  excellent  linguist.     The  man 

[74] 


Breaking  the  Bank 

caught  Mensmore's  arms,  put  a  knee  in  the  small  of  his 
back,  and  doubled  him  backwards  with  a  force  that 
nearly  dislocated  his  spine.  In  the  same  instant  Claude 
secured  the  revolver,  which  he  promptly  pocketed. 

"It  is  well,"  he  said  to  the  guard.  "Here  is  a  louis. 
Say  nothing,  but  leave  us." 

"Monsieur  understands  that  the  honor  of  a  French 
policeman  —  " 

"I  understand  that  if  there  is  any  report  made  of  this 
affair  to  the  authorities  you  will  be  dismissed  for  negli- 
gence. Had  this  lunatic  been  left  to  your  care  he  would 
now  have  been  lying  here  dead.  Do  you  doubt  me?" 

The  guard  hesitated.  "Monsieur  mentioned  a  louis," 
he  said,  for  Bruce's  finger  and  thumb  had  returned  the 
coin  to  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

This  transaction  satisfactorily  ended,  Bruce  accosted 
Mensmore,  who  was  awkwardly  twisting  himself  to  see 
if  his  backbone  were  all  right. 

"  You  are  not  hurt,  I  hope  ? " 

"  It  is  matterless.  Why  could  you  not  let  me  finish  the 
business  in  my  own  way?" 

"Because  the  world  has  some  use  for  a  man  like  you. 
Because  you  are  a  moral  coward,  and  require  support 
from  a  stronger  nature.  Because  I  did  not  want  to  think 
of  that  girl  crying  her  eyes  out  to-morrow  when  she  read  of 
your  death,  or  heard  of  it,  as  she  assuredly  would  have  done." 

Mensmore,  though  still  furious  at  his  fellow-country- 
man's interference,  was  visibly  amazed  at  this  final 
reference. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  her  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Nothing,  save  what  my  eyes  tell  me." 

"They  seem  to  tell  you  a  remarkable  lot  about  my 
affairs." 

[75] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Possibly.  Meanwhile  I  want  you  to  give  me  your 
word  of  honor  that  you  will  not  make  any  further  at- 
tempt on  your  life  during  the  next  seven  days." 

"The  word  of  honor  of  a  disgraced  man!  Will  you 
accept  it  ?  " 

"Most  certainly." 

"You  are  a  queer  chap,  and  no  mistake.  Very  well, 
I  give  it.  At  the  same  time,  I  cannot  help  dying  of  star- 
vation. I  lost  my  last  cent  to-night  at  roulette.  I  am 
hopelessly  involved  in  debts  which  I  cannot  pay.  I  have 
no  prospects  and  no  friends.  You  are  not  doing  me  a 
kindness,  my  dear  fellow,  in  keeping  me  alive,  even  for 
seven  days." 

"You  might  have  obtained  your  fare  to  London  from 
the  authorities  of  the  Casino  ?  " 

"Hardly.  I  lost  very  little  at  roulette.  I  am  not  such 
a  fool.  My  losses  are  nearly  all  in  bets  over  the  pigeon- 
shooting  match  which  I  ought  to  have  won.  I  was  back- 
ing myself  at  a  game  where  I  was  apparently  sure  to 
succeed." 

"  Until  you  were  beaten  by  a  woman's  voice." 

"Yes,  wizard.  I  am  too  dazed  to  wonder  at  you 
sufficiently.  Yet  I  would  have  lost  fifty  times  for  her 
sake,  though  it  was  for  her  sake  that  I  wanted  to  win." 

"  Come,  let  us  smoke.    Sit  down,  and  tell  me  allaboutit." 

They  took  the  nearest  seat,  lighting  cigarettes.  The 
guard,  watching  them  from  the  shade  of  a  huge  palm-tree, 
murmured: 

"  Holy  Virgin,  what  madmen  are  these  English !  They 
move  apart,  unknown;  they  fight;  they  fraternize;  they 
consume  tobacco  —  all  within  five  minutes." 

And  he  lovingly  felt  for  the  louis  to  assure  himself  that 
he  was  not  dreaming. 

[76] 


Breaking  the  Bank 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  said  Mensmore,  who  had 
quite  recovered  his  self-control,  and  was  now  trying  to 
sum  up  the  man  who  had  so  curiously  entered  his  life  at 
the  moment  when  he  had  decided  to  do  away  with  it. 
"  I  came  here,  being  a  poor  chap  living  mostly  on  my  wits, 
to  go  in  for  the  pigeon-shooting  tournaments.  I  won 
several,  and  was  in  fair  funds.  Then  I  fell  in  love.  The 
girl  is  rich,  well-connected,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
She  is  the  first  good  influence  that  has  crossed  my  life,  so 
I  thought  that  perhaps  my  luck  was  now  going  to  turn. 
I  backed  myself  for  all  I  was  worth,  and  more,  to  win  the 
championship.  If  it  came  off  I  should  have  won  over 
£3,000.  As  it  is,  I  owe  £500,  which  must  be  paid  on 
Monday.  My  total  assets,  after  I  settled  my  hotel  bill 
and  sent  a  cheque  to  a  chum  who  took  some  of  my  bets 
in  his  own  name,  was  £16.  Now  I  have  nothing.  So 
you  see — " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Bruce,  "it  is  a  hard  case.  But 
death  is  no  settlement.  Nobody  gets  paid,  and  everybody 
is  worried." 

"My  dear  fellow,  my  life  is  in  your  keeping  for  seven 
days.  After  that,  I  presume,  I  take  myself  in  charge 
again." 

The  barrister  took  thought  for  a  while  before  he  in- 
quired: 

"  Why  did  you  go  to  the  Casino  to-night,  if  you  did  not 
patronize  the  tables  as  a  rule  ? " 

The  other  colored  somewhat  and  laughed  sarcastically. 

"  Just  a  final  bit  of  folly.  I  dreamt  that  my  luck  had 
turned." 

"Dreamt?" 

"Yes,  last  night.  Three  times  did  I  imagine  that  I 
was  playing  roulette,  and  that  after  a  certain  number  — 

[77] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

whether  thirteen  or  twenty-three  I  was  uncertain  —  turned 
up,  there  was  a  run  of  seventeen  on  the  red.  The  funny 
thing  is  that  I  had  an  impression  that  the  number  was 
twenty-three,  but  with  a  doubt  that  it  might  be  thirteen. 
I  remember,  during  a  sub-conscious  state  in  the  third 
dream,  resolving  to  listen  and  look  more  carefully  to  dis- 
cover the  exact  number.  But  again  things  got  blurred. 
The  only  clear  point  was  that  the  run  of  seventeen  on  the 
red  commenced  at  once." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  I  took  my  remaining  cash,  went  to  the  Casino, 
became  a  bit  impatient  when  neither  number  turned  up 
for  quite  a  while,  and  when  thirteen  appeared  I  backed 
the  red.  But  four  times  it  was  the  black  that  won." 

"Sol  saw." 

"Have  you  been  keeping  guard  over  me?" 

"Yes,  in  a  sort  of  way." 

"  You  are  a  queer  chap.  I  can't  help  saying  that  I  am 
obliged  to  you.  But  it  won't  do  any  good.  I  am  abso- 
lutely dead  broke." 

"  Now  listen  to  me.  I  will  pay  your  fare  back  to  Lon- 
don and  give  you  something  to  live  on  until  I  return  a 
week  hence.  Then  you  must  come  to  see  me,  and  I  will 
help  you  into  some  sort  of  situation.  But  you  must  once 
and  for  all  abandon  this  notion  of  suicide." 

"  What  about  my  debts  ?  " 

"Confound  your  debts.  Tell  people  to  wait  until  you 
are  able  to  pay  them." 

"And  — and  the  girl?" 

"If  she  is  worth  having  she  will  give  you  a  chance  of 
making  a  living  sufficient  to  enable  you  to  marry  her. 
She  is  of  age,  I  suppose,  and  can  marry  any  one  she 
likes." 

[78] 


Breaking  the  Bank 

Mensmore  puffed  his  cigarette  in  silence  for  fully  a 
minute.  Then  he  said: 

"  You  are  a  very  decent  sort,  Mr.  — " 

"Bruce  —  Claude  Bruce  is  my  name." 

"Well,  Mr.  Bruce,  you  propose  to  hand  me  £10  for  my 
railway  fare,  and,  say,  £5  for  my  existence,  until  we  meet 
again  in  London,  in  exchange  for  which  you  purchase  the 
rights  in  my  life  indefinitely,  accidents  and  reasonable 
wear  and  tear  excepted." 

"Exactly!" 

"  Make  it  £20,  with  five  louis  down,  and  I  accept." 

"Why  the  stipulation?" 

"I  want  to  back  my  dream.  The  number  is  twenty- 
three.  It  evidently  was  not  thirteen.  I  want  to  see  that 
thing  through.  I  will  back  the  red  after  twenty-three 
turns  up,  and  if  I  lose  I  shall  be  quite  satisfied." 

"What  if  I  refuse?" 

"  Then  I  don't  care  a  bit  what  happens  during  the  next 
seven  days.  After  that,  au  revoir,  should  we  happen  to 
meet  across  the  divide.  Please  make  up  your  mind 
quickly.  That  run  on  the  red  may  come  and  go  while  we 
are  sitting  here." 

Bruce  opened  his  pocket-book.  "Here,"  he  said  with 
a  smile,  "I  will  give  you  four  hundred  francs.  You  will 
reach  the  maximum  more  quickly  if  you  are  right." 

Mensmore's  face  lit  up  with  excitement.  "By  Jove, 
you  are  a  brick,"  he  said.  "  So  you  really  trust  me  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Then  give  me  back  my  revolver." 

Without  a  word,  Bruce  handed  him  the  weapon. 

Mensmore  extracted  the  cartridges  and  threw  them  into 
a  clump  of  shrubs. 

"  Come,"  he  cried;  " come  with  me  to  the  Casino.     You 

[79] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

will  see  something.  This  is  not  my  own  luck;  it  is  bor- 
rowed. Come,  quick!" 

They  raced  off,  Bruce  himself  being  more  fired  with  the 
zest  of  the  thing  than  he  cared  to  admit.  Within  the 
Casino  all  the  tables  were  now  crowded,  but  Mensmore 
hurried  to  that  at  which  he  sat  during  his  earlier  visit. 

"  It  was  here  that  I  played  in  my  dream,"  he  whispered, 
"soon  after  I  came  to  it." 

He  edged  through  the  onlookers,  closely  followed  by 
Bruce.  Neither  cared  for  the  scowls  and  injured  looks 
cast  at  them  by  the  people  whom  they  forced  out  of  the 
way. 

The  Italian,  the  winner  of  half  an  hour  ago,  had  come 
back  like  a  moth  to  the  candle.  Now  he  was  getting  his 
wings  singed.  At  last,  with  a  groan,  he  hastily  rose,  but 
as  a  final  effort  flung  the  maximum,  six  thousand  francs, 
on  the  black. 

The  disc  whirled  and  slowly  slackened  pace,  the  ball 
rested  in  one  of  the  little  squares,  and  the  croupier's 
monotonous  words  came: 

"  Vingt-trois,  rouge,  impair,  et  passe! " 

Out  bounced  the  Italian,  and  Mensmore  seized  his 
chair,  turning  to  Bruce  with  white  face  as  he  murmured: 

"You  hear!     Twenty-three!" 

"  The  barrister  nodded,  and  placed  his  hands  on  Mens- 
more's  shoulders  as  though  to  steady  him. 

Mensmore  staked  his  ten  louis  on  the  red.  They  be- 
came twenty,  then  forty.  Another  whirl  and  they  were 
eighty.  A  fourth  made  them  one  hundred  and  sixty. 

Mensmore  was  now  so  agitated  that  the  table  and  the 
players  swam  before  his  eyes.  But  Bruce,  under  the 
stress  of  exciting  circumstances,  had  the  gift  of  remaining 
preternaturally  cool. 

[80] 


Breaking  the  Bank 

At  the  fifth  coup  the  sum  to  Mensmore's  credit  was 
£256.  He  would  have  left  it  all  on  the  table  had  not 
Bruce  withdrawn  ,£16  in  notes,  as  the  maximum  is  £240. 

When  Mensmore  won  the  sixth  and  seventh  coups  a 
buzz  of  animated  interest  passed  around  the  board. 
People  began  to  note  the  run  on  the  red,  together  with  the 
fact  that  a  man  was  staking  the  maximum  each  time. 
Even  the  croupiers  cast  fleeting  glances  at  the  new-comer, 
when,  several  times  in  succession,  the  long  rake  pushed 
across  the  table  the  little  pile  of  money  and  notes. 

Thenceforth  Mensmore  sat  in  a  state  of  stupor  more 
pronounced  now  that  he  was  playing  and  awake  than 
when  he  dreamt  he  was  playing. 

Each  time  he  mechanically  staked  the  maximum  and 
received  back  twice  as  much,  while  the  eager  onlookers 
now  burst  into  cries  of  wonder  that  brought  others  running 
from  all  parts  of  the  room. 

But  Bruce  did  not  lose  count. 

When  the  red  had  turned  up  seventeen  times,  and  the 
amount  to  Mensmore's  credit  was  £3,128,  he  shook  the 
latter  violently  as  he  was  about  to  shove  forward  another 
maximum,  and,  of  his  own  volition,  placed  the  money  on 
the  black. 

"  Douze,  noir,  pair  et  manque,"  sang  out  the  croupier, 
and  Bruce  hissed  into  Mensmore's  ear: 

"  Get  up  at  once." 

His  strangely  made  acquaintance  obeyed,  gathered  up 
his  gold  and  notes,  fastened  them  securely  in  an  inner 
pocket,  and  the  pair  quitted  the  Casino  amid  extravagant 
protestations  of  good-will  and  friendship  from  all  the 
voluble  foreigners  present,  having  attracted  not  a  little 
attention  from  the  less  demonstrative  Americans  and 
English  in  the  room. 

[81] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

It  was  some  time  before  the  roulette  tables  began  their 
orderly  round  again,  for  Mensmore's  sensational  perform- 
ance was  in  everybody's  mouth. 

The  highest  recorded  sum  is  twenty-three  on  the  black, 
but  a  run  of  eighteen  on  the  red  is  sufficiently  remarkable 
to  keep  Monte  Carlo  in  talk  for  a  week. 

Albert  Mensmore  certainly  could  not  complain  that  the 
events  of  the  particular  evening  were  dull.  For  one  hour 
at  least  he  lived  in  the  fire  that  consumes,  for  he  stepped 
back  from  the  porch  of  dishonored  death  to  find  himself 
the  possessor  of  a  sum  more  than  sufficient  for  his  reason- 
able requirements. 

The  pace  was  rapid  and  almost  fatal. 


[82] 


CHAPTER  X 
SOME   GOOD  RESOLUTIONS 

ONCE  safe  in  the  seclusion  of  Claude's  sitting-room 
Mensmore  almost  collapsed.  The  strain  had  been  a 
severe  one,  and  now  he  had  to  pay  the  penalty  by  way  of 
reaction. 

The  barrister  forced  him  to  swallow  a  stiff  brandy  and 
soda,  and  then  wished  him  to  retire  to  rest,  but  the  other 
protested  with  some  show  of  animation. 

"  Let  me  talk,  for  goodness'  sake ! "  he  cried.  I  cannot 
be  alone.  You  have  seen  me  through  a  lot  of  trouble 
to-night.  Stick  to  me  for  another  hour,  there's  a  good 
fellow." 

"With  pleasure.  Perhaps  it  is  the  best  thing  you  can 
do,  after  all.  Let  us  see  how  much  you  have  won." 

Bruce  made  a  calculation  on  a  sheet  of  paper  and  said: 
"  Exclusive  of  the  original  stake  of  ten  louis  you  ought  to 
have  £3,128. 

Mensmore  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  the  crumpled  bundle 
of  notes  and  bills.  Claude's  notes  were  among  them,  and 
he  tossed  them  across  the  table  with  a  smile. 

"  There's  your  capital.  I  will  see  if  the  total  is  all  right 
before  we  go  shares." 

Claude  nodded,  and  Mensmore  began  to  jot  down  the 
items  of  his  valuable  package.  He  bothered  with  the 
figures  for  some  time  but  could  not  get  them  right.  Finally 
he  tossed  everything  over  to  the  other,  saying: 

[83] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"No  matter  how  I  count,  I  can't  get  this  calculation 
straight.  Seventeen  coups,  beginning  with  ten  louis,  work 
out  at  .£3,128  all  right  enough.  But  in  this  lot  there  is 
,£3,368,  and  they  don't  pay  twice  at  the  Casino." 

The  barrister  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  laughed 
heartily.  "I  remember  now,"  he  said;  "I  kept  careful 
count  of  the  series  of  seventeen,  or  eighteen,  to  be  exact. 
On  my  own  account,  as  you  were  too  dazed  to  notice 
anything,  I  put  a  maximum  on  the  black.  Your  dream 
turned  up  trumps,  as  the  series  stopped  and  black  won. 
Hence  the  odd  £240." 

"Then  that  is  yours,"  said  the  other  gravely.  "I  will 
take  £1,128  to  square  all  my  debts,  and  we  go  shares  in 
the  balance,  a  thousand  each,  if  you  think  that  fair.  If 
not  I  will  gladly  hand  over  the  lot,  after  paying  my  debts, 
I  mean." 

Mensmore's  seriousness  impressed  the  barrister  more 
than  any  other  incident  of  that  dramatic  evening. 

"  You  forget,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  told  you  I  had  money 
in  plenty  for  my  own  needs.  You  must  keep  every 
farthing  except  my  own  £8,  which  you  do  not  now  need. 
No.  Please  do  not  argue.  I  will  consent  to  no  other 
course.  This  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel  should  provide  you 
with  sufficient  capital  to  branch  out  earnestly  in  your 
career,  whatever  it  be.  I  will  ask  my  interest  in  different 
manner." 

"  I  can  never  repay  you,  in  gratitude,  at  any  rate.  And 
there  is  another  who  will  be  thankful  to  you  when  she 
knows.  Ask  anything  you  like.  Make  any  stipulation 
you  please.  I  agree  to  it." 

"It  is  a  bargain.     Sign  this." 

Bruce  took  a  sheet  of  note-paper,  bearing  the  crest  of 
the  Hotel  du  Cercle,  dated  it,  and  wrote: 

[84] 


Some  Good  Resolutions 

"  I  promise  that,  for  the  space  of  twelve  months,  I  will 
not  make  a  bet  of  any  sort,  or  gamble  at  any  game  of 
chance." 

When  Mensmore  read  the  document  his  face  fell  a 
little.  "Won't  you  except  pigeon-shooting?"  he  said. 
"I  am  sure  to  beat  that  Russian  next  time." 

"I  can  allow  no  exceptions." 

"But  why  limit  me  for  twelve  months?" 

"  Because  if  in  that  time  you  do  not  gain  sense  enough 
to  stop  risking  your  happiness,  even  your  life,  upon  the 
turn  of  a  card  or  the  flight  of  a  bird,  the  sooner  thereafter 
you  shoot  yourself  the  less  trouble  you  will  bring  upon 
those  connected  with  you." 

"You  are  a  rum  chap,"  murmured  Mensmore,  "and 
you  put  matters  pretty  straight,  too.  However,  here  goes. 
You  don't  bar  me  from  entering  for  sweepstakes." 

He  signed  the  paper,  and  tossed  it  over  to  Bruce,  while 
the  latter  did  not  comment  upon  the  limitation  of  his 
intentions  imposed  by  Mensmore's  final  sentence.  The 
man  undoubtedly  was  a  good  shot,  and  during  his  resi- 
dence in  the  Riviera  he  might  pick  up  some  valuable  prizes. 

"And  now,"  said  the  barrister,  "may  I  ask  as  a  friend 
to  what  use  you  intend  to  put  your  newly  found  wealth  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  simple  enough.  I  have  to  pay  .£500  which 
I  lost  in  bets  over  that  beastly  unlucky  match.  Then  I 
have  a  splendid  'spec,'  into  which  I  will  now  be  able  to 
place  about  £2,000  —  a  thing  which  I  have  good  reason 
to  believe  will  bring  me  in  at  least  ten  thou'  within  the 
year,  and  there  is  nearly  a  thousand  pounds  to  go  on  with. 
And  all  thanks  to  you." 

"  Never  mind  thanking  me.  I  am  only  too  glad  to  have 
taken  such  a  part  in  the  affair.  I  will  not  forget  this  night 
as  long  as  I  live." 

[85] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Nor  I.  Just  think  of  it.  I  might  be  lying  in  the 
gardens  now,  or  in  some  mortuary,  with  half  my  head 
blown  off." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Bruce,  between  the  contemplative  puffs 
of  a  cigar,  "  what  induced  you  to  think  of  suicide  ?  " 

"It  was  a  combination  of  circumstances,"  replied  the 
other.  "You  must  understand  that  I  was  somewhat 
worried  about  financial  and  family  matters  when  I  came 
to  Monte  Carlo.  It  was  not  to  gamble,  in  a  sense,  that 
I  remained  here.  I  have  loafed  about  the  world  a  good 
deal,  but  I  may  honestly  say  I  never  made  a  fool  of  myself 
at  cards  or  backing  horses.  At  most  kinds  of  sport  I  am 
fairly  proficient,  and  in  pigeon-shooting,  which  goes  on 
here  extensively,  I  am  undoubtedly  an  expert.  For  in- 
stance, all  this  season  I  have  kept  myself  in  funds  simply 
by  means  of  these  competitions." 

His  hearer  nodded  approvingly. 

"  Well,  in  the  midst  of  my  minor  troubles,  I  must  needs 
go  and  fall  over  head  and  ears  in  love  —  a  regular  bad 
case.  She  is  the  first  woman  I  ever  spoke  two  civil  words 
to.  We  met  at  a  picnic  along  the  Corniche  Road,  and 
she  sat  upon  me  so  severely  that  I  commenced  to  defend 
myself  by  showing  that  I  was  not  such  a  surly  brute  as  I 
looked.  By  Jove,  in  a  week  we  were  engaged." 

The  barrister  indulged  in  a  judicial  frown. 

"No.  It's  none  of  your  silly,  sentimental  affairs  in 
which  people  part  and  meet  months  afterwards  with  polite 
inquiries  after  each  other's  health.  I  am  not  made  that 
way;  neither  is  Phil  —  Phyllis  is  her  name,  you  know. 
This  is  for  life.  I  am  just  bound  up  in  her,  and  she  would 
go  through  fire  and  water  for  me.  But  she  is  rich,  the 
only  daughter  of  a  Midland  iron-master  with  tons  of 
money.  Her  people  are  awfully  nice,  and  I  think  they 

[86] 


Some  Good  Resolutions 

approve  of  me,  though  they  have  no  idea  that  Phil  and  I 
are  engaged." 

He  paused  to  gulp  down  a  strong  decoction  of  brandy 
and  soda.  The  difficult  part  of  his  story  was  coming. 

"  You  can  quite  believe,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  did  not 
want  to  ask  her  father,  Sir  William  Browne  —  he  was 
knighted  by  the  late  Queen  for  his  distinguished  municipal 
services  —  to  give  his  daughter  to  a  chap  who  hadn't  a 
cent.  He  supposes  I  am  fairly  well  off,  living  as  I  do,  and 
I  can't  bear  acting  under  false  pretences.  I  hate  it  like 
poison,  though  in  this  world  a  man  often  has  to  do  what 
he  doesn't  like.  However,  this  time  I  determined  to  be 
straight  and  above  board.  It  was  a  very  odd  fact,  but 
I  just  wanted  .£3000  to  enable  me  to  make  a  move  which, 
I  tell  you,  ought  to  result  in  a  very  fair  sum  of  money, 
sufficient,  at  any  rate,  to  render  it  a  reasonable  proposition 
for  Phil  and  me  to  get  married." 

Claude  was  an  appreciative  listener.  These  love  stories 
of  real  life  are  often  so  much  more  dramatic  than  the 
fictions  of  the  novel  or  the  stage. 

"  The  opportunity  came,  to  my  mind,  in  this  big  tourna- 
ment. I  had  no  difficulty  of  getting  odds  in  six  or  seven 
to  one  to  far  more  than  I  was  able  to  pay  if  I  lost.  Phil 
came  into  the  scheme  with  me  —  she  knows  all  about  me, 
you  know  —  and  we  both  regarded  it  as  a  certainty. 
Then  the  collapse  came.  She  wanted  to  get  the  money 
fiom  her  mother  to  enable  me  to  pay  up,  but  I  would  not 
hear  of  it.  I  pretended  that  I  could  raise  the  wind  some 
other  way.  The  fact  is  I  was  wild  with  myself  and  with 
my  luck  generally.  Then  there  was  the  disgrace  of  failing 
to  settle  on  Monday,  combined  with  the  general  excitement 
of  that  dream  and  a  fearfully  disturbed  night.  To  make 
a  long  story  short,  I  thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to 

[87] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

try  a  final  plunge,  and  if  it  failed,  to  quit.  I  even  took 
steps  to  make  Phil  believe  I  was  a  bad  lot,  so  that  she 
might  not  fret  too  much  after  me." 

Mensmore's  voice  was  a  little  unsteady  in  this  last 
sentence.  The  barrister  tried  to  cheer  him  by  a  little  bit 
of  raillery: 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  succeeded  too  well  ?  "  he  laughed. 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  right  now.  I  mean  that  I  left  her  some 
papers  which  would  bring  things  to  her  knowledge  that, 
unexplained  by  me,  would  give  any  one  a  completely 
false  impression." 

The  subject  was  evidently  a  painful  one,  so  Bruce  did 
not  pursue  it. 

"About  this  speculation  of  yours,"  he  said.  "Are  you 
sure  it's  all  right,  and  that  you  will  not  lose  your  money  ?  " 

"  It  is  as  certain  as  any  business  can  be.  It  is  a  matter 
I  thoroughly  understand,  but  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it. 
If  you  will  pardon  me  a  moment  I  will  bring  you  the 
papers,  as  I  should  like  to  have  your  advice,  and  it  is 
early  yet.  You  don't  want  to  go  to  bed,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Not  for  hours." 

•  Mensmore  rose,  but  before  he  reached  the  door  a  gentle 
tap  heralded  the  appearance  of  the  hall-porter. 

"There  is  a  letter  for  the  gentleman.  Monsieur  is  not 
in  his  room.  He  is  reported  to  be  here,  so  I  bring  it." 

Mensmore  took  the  note,  read  it  with  a  smile  and  a 
growing  flush,  and  handed  it  to  the  barrister,  saying: 
"Under  the  circumstances  I  think  you  ought  to  see  this. 
Isn't  she  a  brick?" 

The  tiny  missive  ran: 

"  Dearest  One,  —  You  must  forgive  me,  but  we  are  both 
so  miserable  about  that  wretched  money  that  I  told 

[88] 


Some  Good  Resolutions 

mother  everything.  She  likes  you,  and  though  she  gave 
me  a  blowing  up,  she  has  promised  to  give  me  £500  to- 
morrow. We  can  never  thank  her  sufficiently.  Do  come 
around  and  see  me  for  a  minute.  I  will  be  in  the  verandah 
until  eleven.  Ever  yours, 

"PHYLLIS." 

Claude  returned  the  note. 

"Luck!  you're  the  luckiest  fellow  in  the  South  of 
France! "  he  said.  "  Why,  here's  the  mother  plotting  with 
the  daughter  on  your  behalf.  Sir  William  hasn't  the 
ghost  of  a  chance.  Off  you  go  to  that  blessed  verandah." 

When  Mensmore  had  quitted  the  hotel  Bruce  descended 
to  the  bureau  to  take  up  the  threads  of  his  neglected  quest. 
The  letter  to  Sydney  H.  Corbett  was  still  unclaimed,  and 
he  thought  he  was  justified  in  examining  it.  On  the 
reverse  of  the  envelope  was  the  embossed  stamp  of  an 
electric-lighting  company,  so  the  contents  were  nothing 
more  important  than  a  bill. 

An  hour  later  Mensmore  joined  him  in  the  billiard- 
room,  radiant  and  excited. 

"Great  news,"  he  said.  "I  squared  everything  with 
Lady  Browne.  Told  her  I  was  only  chaffing  Phil  about 
the  five  hundred,  because  she  spoiled  my  aim  by  shrieking 
out.  Sir  William  has  chartered  a  steam  yacht  to  go  for 
a  three  weeks'  cruise  along  the  Gulf  of  Genoa  and  the 
Italian  coast.  They  have  put  him  up  to  ask  me  in  the 
morning  to  join  the  party.  Great  Scott!  what  a  night 
I'm  having!" 

They  parted  soon  afterwards,  and  next  morning  Bruce 
was  informed  that  his  friend  had  gone  out  early,  leaving 
word  that  he  had  been  summoned  to  breakfast  at  the 
Grand  Hotel,  where  Sir  William  Browne  was  staying. 

During  the  afternoon  Mensmore  came  to  him  like  a 

[89] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

whirlwind.  "  We're  off  to-day,"  he  said.  "  By  the  way, 
where  shall  I  find  you  in  London?" 

The  barrister  gave  him  his  address,  and  Mensmore, 
handing  him  a  card,  said,  "My  permanent  address  is 
given  here,  the  Orleans  Club,  St.  James's.  But  I  will 
look  you  up  first.  I  shall  be  in  town  early  in  March. 
And  you?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  home  much  sooner.  Good-bye,  and 
don't  let  your  good  luck  spoil  you." 

"No  fear!  Wait  until  you  know  Phyllis.  She  would 
keep  any  fellow  all  right  once  he  got  his  chance,  as  I  have 
done.  Good-bye,  and  —  and  —  God  bless  you ! " 

During  the  next  three  days  Bruce  devoted  himself 
sedulously  to  the  search  for  Corbett.  He  inquired  in 
every  possible  and  impossible  place,  but  the  man  had 
utterly  vanished. 

Nor  did  he  come  to  claim  his  letter  at  the  Hotel  du 
Cercle.  It  remained  stuck  on  the  baize-covered  board 
until  it  was  covered  with  dust,  and  the  clerk  of  the  bureau 
had  grown  weary  of  watching  people  who  scrutinized  the 
receptacle  for  their  correspondence. 

Others  came  and  asked  for  Corbett  —  sharp-featured 
men  with  imperials  and  long  moustaches  —  the  interest 
taken  in  the  man  was  great,  but  unrequited.  He  never 
appeared. 

At  last  the  season  ended,  the  hotel  was  closed,  and  the 
mysterious  letter  was  shot  into  the  dustbin. 


[90] 


CHAPTER  XI 
THEORIES 

BRUCE  announced  his  departure  from  Monte  Carlo  by 
a  telegram  to  his  valet. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  expect  to  find  that  useful 
adjunct  to  his  small  household  —  Smith  and  his  wife 
comprised  the  barrister's  menage  —  standing  on  the  plat- 
form at  Charing  Cross  when  the  mail  train  from  the 
Continent  steamed  into  the  station. 

Smith,  who  had  his  doubts  about  this  sudden  trip  to  the 
Riviera,  was  relieved  when  he  saw  his  master  was  alone. 
"  Sir  Charles  Dyke  called  this  afternoon,  sir,"  he  explained. 
"I  told  Sir  Charles  about  your  wire,  sir,  and  he  is  very 
anxious  that  you  should  dine  with  him  to-night.  You  can 
dress  at  Portman  Square,  and  if  I  come  with  you  — " 

"Yes;  I  understand.  Bundle  everything  into  a  four- 
wheeler." 

"Sir  Charles  thought  you  might  come,  sir,  so  he  sent 
his  carriage." 

London  looked  dull  but  familiar  as  they  rolled  across 
Leicester  Square  and  up  Regent  Street.  Your  true  Cock- 
ney knows  that  he  is  out  of  his  latitude  when  the  sky  is 
blue  overhead.  Let  him  hear  the  tinkle  of  the  hansoms' 
bells  through  a  dim,  fog-laden  atmosphere,  and  he  knows 
where  he  is.  There  is  but  one  London,  and  Cockneydom 
is  the  order  of  Melchisedek.  Claude's  heart  was  glad 

[91] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

within  him  to  be  home  again,  even  though  the  band  was 
just  gathering  in  the  Casino  gardens,  and  the  lights  of 
Monaco  were  beginning  to  gleam  over  the  moon-lit 
expanse  of  the  Mediterranean. 

At  Wensley  House  the  traveller  was  warmly  welcomed 
by  the  baronet,  who  seemed  to  have  somewhat  recovered 
his  health  and  spirits. 

Nevertheless,  Bruce  was  distressed  to  note  the  in- 
effaceable signs  of  the  suffering  Sir  Charles  Dyke  had 
undergone  since  the  disappearance  of  his  wife.  He  had 
aged  quite  ten  years  in  appearance.  Deep  lines  of  sor- 
rowful thought  had  indented  his  brow,  his  face  was  thinner, 
his  eyes  had  acquired  a  wistful  look;  his  air  was  that  of  a 
man  whose  theory  of  life  had  been  forcibly  reversed. 

At  first  both  men  fought  shy  of  the  topic  uppermost  in 
their  minds,  but  the  after-dinner  cigar  brought  the  question 
to  Dyke's  lips: 

"  And  now,  Claude,  have  you  any  mrther  news  concern- 
ing my  wife's  —  death  ?  " 

The  barrister  noted  the  struggle  before  the  final  word 
came.  The  husband  had,  then,  resigned  all  hope. 

**  I  have  none,"  he  answered.  "  That  is  to  say,  I  have 
nothing  definite.  I  promised  to  tell  you  everything  I  did, 
so  I  will  keep  my  promise,  but  you  will,  of  course,  differ- 
entiate between  facts  and  theories  ?  " 

The  baronet  nodded  an  agreement. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Bruce,  "let  me  ask  you 
whether  or  not  you  have  seen  Jane  Harding,  the  missing 
maid?" 

"Yes.  It  seems  that  she  called  here  twice  before  she 
caught  me  at  home.  At  first  she  was  very  angry  about 
a  squabble  there  had  been  between  Thompson  and  herself. 
I  refused  to  listen  to  it.  Then  she  told  me  how  you  had 

[92] 


Theories 

found  her  at  some  theatre,  and  she  volunteered  an  expla- 
nation of  her  extraordinary  behavior.  She  said  that  she 
had  unexpectedly  come  into  a  large  sum  of  money,  and 
that  it  had  turned  her  head.  She  was  sorry  for  the  trouble 
her  actions  had  caused,  so,  under  the  circumstances,  I 
allowed  her  to  take  away  certain  clothes  and  other  belong- 
ings she  had  left  here." 

"  Did  she  ask  for  these  things  ?  " 

"Yes.     Made  quite  a  point  of  it." 

"Did  you  see  them?" 

"No." 

"  So  you  do  not  know  whether  they  were  of  any  value, 
or  the  usual  collection  of  rubbish  found  in  servants' 
boxes." 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  notion." 

"Have  they  ever  been  thoroughly  examined  by  any 
one?" 

"  'Pon  my  honor,  I  believe  not.  Now  that  you  remind 
me  of  it  I  think  the  girl  seemed  rather  anxious  on  that 
point.  I  remember  my  housekeeper  telling  me  that 
Harding  had  asked  her  if  her  clothes  had  been  ransacked 
by  the  detectives." 

"  And  what  did  the  housekeeper  say  ?  " 

"  She  will  tell  you  herself.     Let  us  have  her  up." 

"Don't  trouble  her.  If  I  remember  aright  the  police 
did  not  examine  Jane  Harding's  room.  They  simply  took 
your  report  and  the  statements  of  the  other  servants,  while 
the  housekeeper  was  responsible  for  the  partial  search 
made  through  the  girl's  boxes  for  some  clue  that  might 
lead  to  her  discovery." 

"That  is  so." 

The  barrister  smoked  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  until 
Sir  Charles  broke  out  rather  querulously: 

[93] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"I  suppose  I  did  wrong  in  letting  Harding  take  her 
traps?" 

"No,"  said  Bruce.  "It  is  I  who  am  to  blame.  There 
is  something  underhanded  about  this  young  woman's 
conduct.  The  story  about  the  sudden  wealth  is  all 
bunkum,  in  one  sense.  That  she  did  receive  a  bequest 
or  gift  of  a  considerable  sum  cannot  be  doubted.  That 
she  at  once  decided  to  go  on  the  stage  is  obvious.  But 
what  is  the  usual  course  for  a  servant  to  pursue  in  such 
cases  ?  Would  she  not  have  sought  first  to  glorify  herself 
in  the  sight  of  her  fellow-servants,  and  even  of  her  em- 
ployers? Would  there  not  have  been  the  display  of  a 
splendid  departure  —  in  a  hansom  —  with  voluble  direc- 
tions to  the  driver,  for  the  benefit  of  the  footman  ?  As  it 
was,  Jane  Harding  acted  suddenly,  precipitately,  under 
the  stress  of  some  powerful  emotion.  I  cannot  help  be- 
lieving that  her  departure  from  this  house  had  some 
connection,  however  remote,  with  Lady  Dyke's  disap- 
pearance." 

"  Good  heavens,  Claude,  you  never  told  me  this  before." 

"  True,  but  when  we  last  met  I  had  not  the  pleasure  of 
Miss  Marie  le  Marchant's  acquaintance.  I  wish  to 
goodness  I  had  rummaged  her  boxes  before  she  carried 
them  off." 

"And  I  sincerely  echo  your  wish,"  said  Sir  Charles 
testily.  "  It  always  seems,  somehow,  that  I  am  to  blame." 

"  You  must  not  take  that  view.  I  really  wonder,  Dyke, 
that  you  have  not  closed  up  your  town  house  and  gone  off 
to  Scotland  for  the  fag-end  of  the  shooting  season.  You 
won't  hunt,  I  know,  but  a  quiet  life  on  the  moors  would 
bring  you  right  away  from  associations  which  must  have 
bitter  memories  for  you." 

"I  would  have  done  so,  but  I  cannot  tear  myself  away 

[041 


Theories 

while  there  is  the  slightest  chance  of  the  mystery  attending 
my  wife's  fate  being  unravelled.  I  feel  that  I  must  remain 
here  near  you.  You  are  the  only  man  who  can  solve  the 
riddle,  if  it  ever  be  solved.  By  the  way,  what  of  Raleigh 
Mansions  ?  " 

The  baronet  obviously  nerved  himself  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion. The  reason  was  patent.  His  wife's  inexplicable 
visit  to  that  locality  was  in  some  way  connected  with  her 
fate,  and  the  common-sense  view  was  that  some  intrigue 
lay  hidden  behind  the  impenetrable  wall  of  ignorance  that 
shrouded  her  final  movements. 

Bruce  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Was  there  any  need  to 
bring  Mrs.  Hillmer's  name  into  the  business?  At  any 
rate,  he  could  fully  answer  Sir  Charles  without  mentioning 
her  at  this  juncture. 

"  The  only  person  in  Raleigh  Mansions  who  interests  me 
just  now  is  one  who,  to  use  a  convenient  bull,  is  not  there." 

"Yes?" 

"This  person  occupies  a  flat  in  No.  12,  his  name  is 
Sydney  H.  Corbett,  and  he  left  his  residence  for  the 
Riviera  two  days  after  your  wife  was  lost." 

"Now,  who  on  earth  can  he  be?  I  am  as  sure  as  a 
man  may  be  of  anything  that  no  one  of  that  name  was  in 
the  remotest  way  connected  with  either  my  wife  or  myself 
for  the  last  —  let  me  see  —  six  years,  at  any  rate." 

"Possibly.  But  you  cannot  say  that  Lady  Dyke  may 
not  have  met  him  previously  ?  " 

The  baronet  winced  at  the  allusion  as  though  a  whip 
had  struck  him.  "  For  heaven's  sake,  Claude,"  he  cried, 
"  do  not  harbor  suspicions  against  her.  I  cannot  bear  it. 
I  tell  you  my  whole  soul  revolts  at  the  idea.  I  would 
rather  be  suspected  of  having  killed  her  myself  than  listen 
to  a  word  whispered  against  her  good  name." 

[95] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  I  sympathize  with  you,  but  you  must  not  jump  at  me 
in  that  fashion.  One  hypothesis  is  as  wildly  impossible 
as  the  other.  I  did  not  say  that  Lady  Dyke  went  to 
Raleigh  Mansions  on  account  of  some  present  or  bygone 
transgression  of  her  own.  I  would  as  soon  think  of  my 
mother  in  such  a  connection.  But  a  pure,  good  woman 
will  often  do  on  behalf  of  others  what  she  will  not  do  for 
herself.  Really,  Dyke,  you  must  not  be  unjust  to  me, 
especially  when  you  force  me  to  tell  you  what  may  prove 
to  be  mere  theories." 

"  Others  ?     What  others  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say.  I  wish  I  could.  If  I  once  lay  hold  of 
the  reason  that  brought  Lady  Dyke  to  Raleigh  Mansions, 
I  will,  within  twenty-four  hours,  tell  you  who  murdered 
her.  Of  that  I  am  as  certain  as  that  the  sun  will  rise 
to-morrow." 

And  the  barrister  poked  the  fire  viciously  to  give  vent 
to  the  annoyance  that  his  friend's  outburst  had  provoked. 

"  Pardon  me,  Bruce.  Do  not  forget  how  I  have  suffered 
—  what  I  am  suffering  —  and  try  to  bear  with  me.  I 
never  valued  my  wife  while  she  lived.  It  is  only  now  that 
I  feel  the  extent  of  my  loss.  If  my  own  life  would  only 
restore  her  to  me  for  an  instant  I  would  cheerfully  give  it." 

If  ever  man  meant  his  words  this  man  did.  His  agita- 
tion moved  the  kindly  hearted  barrister  to  rise  and  place 
a  gentle  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"I  am  sorry,  Dyke,"  he  said,  "that  the  conversation  has 
taken  this  turn.  These  speculative  guesses  at  potential 
clues  distress  you.  If  you  took  my  advice,  you  would  not 
worry  about  events  until  at  least  something  tangible  turns 
up." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  best  so,"  murmured  the  other.  "  In  any 
event,  it  is  of  little  consequence.  I  cannot  live  long." 

[96] 


Theories 

"  Oh,  nonsense.  You  are  good  for  another  fifty  years. 
Come,  shake  off  this  absurd  depression.  You  can  do  no 
good  by  it.  I  wish  now  I  had  taken  you  with  me  to 
Monte  Carlo.  The  fresh  air  would  have  braced  you  up 
while  I  hunted  for  Corbett." 

"Did  you  find  him?" 

"No,  but  I  dropped  in  for  an  adventure  that  would 
cheer  the  soul  of  any  depressed  author  searching  vainly 
for  an  idea  for  a  short  story." 

"What  was  it?" 

Claude,  who  possessed  no  mean  skill  as  a  raconteur, 
gave  him  the  history  of  the  Casino  incident,  and  the 
thrilling  denouement  so  interested  the  baronet  that  he  lit 
another  cigar. 

"Did  you  ascertain  the  names  of  the  parties?"  he 
said. 

"  Oh  yes.  You  will  respect  their  identity,  as  the  sensa- 
tional side  of  the  affair  had  better  now  be  buried  in 
oblivion,  though,  of  course,  all  the  world  knows  about  the 
way  we  scooped  the  bank.  The  lady  is  a  daughter  of  Sir 
William  Browne,  a  worthy  knight  from  Warwickshire, 
and  her  rather  rapid  swain  is  a  youngster  named  Mens- 
more." 

"  Mensmore ! "  shouted  the  baronet.  "  A  youngster,  you 
say  ?  "  and  Sir  Charles  bounced  upright  in  his  excitement. 

"Why,  yes,  a  man  of  twenty-five.  No  more  than 
twenty-eight,  I  can  swear  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"Albert  Mensmore?" 

"That's  the  man  beyond  doubt." 

Dyke  hastily  poured  out  some  whiskey  and  water  and 
swallowed  it.  Then  he  spoke,  with  a  faint  smile:  "You 
didn't  know,  Bruce,"  he  said,  "  that  you  vividly  described 
the  attempted  self-murder  of  a  man  I  know  intimately." 

[97] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  What  an  extraordinary  thing !  Yet  I  never  remember 
hearing  you  mention  his  name." 

"Probably  not.  I  have  hardly  seen  him  since  my 
marriage.  We  were  schoolboys  together,  though  I  was  so 
much  his  senior  that  we  did  not  chum  together  until  later, 
when  we  met  a  good  deal  on  the  turf.  Then  he  went  off, 
roughing  it  in  the  States.  It  must  be  he.  It  is  just  one 
of  his  pranks.  And  he  is  going  to  marry,  eh  ?  Is  she  a 
nice  girl  ?  " 

The  baronet  was  thoroughly  excited.  He  talked  fast, 
and  helped  himself  liberally  to  stimulants. 

"Yes,  unusually  so.  But  I  cannot  help  marvelling  at 
this  coincidence.  It  has  upset  you." 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  was  interested  in  your  yarn,  and  naturally 
I  was  unprepared  for  the  startling  fact  that  an  old  friend 
of  mine  filled  the  chief  part.  What  a  fellow  you  are, 
Claude,  for  always  turning  up  at  the  right  time.  I  have 
never  been  in  a  tight  place  personally,  but  if  I  were  I 
suppose  you  would  come  along  and  show  me  the  way  out. 
Sit  down  again  and  give  me  all  the  details.  I  am  full  of 
curiosity." 

Bruce  had  never  before  seen  Sir  Charles  in  such  a 
hysterical  mood.  The  anguish  of  the  past  three  months 
had  changed  the  careless,  jovial  baronet  into  a  fretful, 
wayward  being,  who  had  lost  control  of  his  emotions. 
Undoubtedly  he  required  some  powerful  tonic.  The  bar- 
rister resolved  to  see  more  of  him  in  the  future,  and  not  to 
cease  urging  him  until  he  had  started  on  a  long  sea  voyage, 
or  taken  up  some  hobby  that  would  keep  his  mind  from 
brooding  upon  the  everlasting  topic  of  his  wife's  strange 
death. 

Dyke's  fitful  disposition  manifested  itself  later.  After 
he  had  listened  with  keen  attention  to  all  that  Bruce  had 

[98] 


Theories 

told  him  concerning  Mensmore  and  Phyllis  Browne,  he 
suddenly  swerved  back  to  the  one  engrossing  thought. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  Corbett  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Find  him." 

"But  how?" 

"  People  are  always  tied  to  a  centre  by  a  string,  and  no 
matter  how  long  the  string  may  be,  it  contracts  sooner  or 
later.  Corbett  will  turn  up  at  Raleigh  Mansions,  and 
before  very  many  weeks  have  passed,  if  I  mistake  not." 

"And  then?" 

"Then  he  will  have  to  answer  me  a  few  pertinent 
questions.'" 

"But  suppose  he  knows  nothing  whatever  about  the 
business  ?  " 

"In  that  case  I  must  confess  the  clue  is  more  tangled 
than  ever." 

"  It  would  be  curious  if  Corbett  and  Jane  Harding  were 
in  any  way  associated." 

"  If  they  were,  it  would  take  much  to  convince  me  that 
one  or  both  could  not  supply  at  least  some  important 
information  bearing  on  my  —  on  our  quest.  If  Mr.  White 
even  knew  as  much  as  I  do  about  them  he  would  arrest 
them  at  sight." 

"  Oh,  he's  a  thick-headed  chap,  is  White.  By  the  way, 
that  reminds  me.  He  got  hold  of  the  maid,  it  seems, 
before  she  had  bolted,  and  made  her  give  him  some  of  my 
wife's  clothes.  By  that  means  he  established  some  sort 
of  a  theory  about  — " 

"About  a  matter  on  which  we  differ,"  put  in  Bruce 
quietly.  "Let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

The  other  moved  restlessly  in  his  chair,  but  yielded. 
For  the  remainder  of  the  evening  they  discussed  questions 
irrelevant  to  the  course  of  this  narrative. 

[99] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

It  was  late  when  they  separated,  but  Bruce  found  Smith 
sitting  up  for  him  at  home. 

That  faithful  servitor  bustled  about,  stirring  the  fire 
and  turning  up  the  lights.  Finally  he  nervously  addressed 
his  master: 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  but  there  was  a  policeman  here  asking 
about  you  to-night,  sir." 

"A  policeman!" 

"  Well,  sir,  a  detective  —  Mr.  White,  of  Scotland  Yard. 
I  knew  him,  sir,  though  he  did  not  think  it.  He  came 
about  ten  o'clock,  and  asked  where  you  were." 

"Did  you  tell  him?" 

"Well,  sir,"  and  Smith  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  "  I  thought  it  best  to  let  him  know  the  truth,  sir." 

"  Good  gracious,  Smith,  he  is  not  going  to  handcuff  me. 
You  did  quite  right.  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"Nothing,  sir;  except  that  he  would  call  again.  He 
wouldn't  leave  his  name,  but  I  know'd  him  all  right." 

"Thank  you.  Good-night.  It  was  unnecessary  that 
you  should  have  remained  up.  But  I  am  obliged  to  you 
all  the  same." 

The  barrister  laughed  as  he  went  to  his  room.  "  Really," 
he  said  to  himself,  still  highly  amused,  "White  will  cap 
all  his  previous  feats  by  trying  to  arrest  me.  I  suspect  he 
has  thought  of  it  for  a  long  time." 

And  Mr.  White  had  thought  of  it. 


[100] 


CHAPTER  XII 
WHO   CORBETT  WAS 

"INEXORABLE  Fate!"  is  a  favorite  phrase  with  the 
makers  of  books;  but  Fate,  being  feminine  according  to 
the  best  authorities,  is  also  somewhat  fickle  in  disposition. 
Not  only  is  she  not  invariably  inexorable,  but  at  times  she 
delights  to  play  with  her  poor  subjects,  to  dazzle  them  with 
surprise,  as  it  were,  to  stupefy  them  with  the  sense  of  their 
sheer  inability  to  foresee  or  understand  her  vagaries. 

It  was  Bruce^s  turn  to  receive  the  sharpest  lesson  in 
this  respect  that  he  ever  remembered. 

At  breakfast  the  next  morning  he  selected  from  a  packet 
of  unimportant  letters  one  which  required  immediate  at- 
tention. The  financiers  to  whom  he  had  written  in  con- 
formity with  his  implied  promise  to  Mr.  Dodge  had  replied 
favorably  with  reference  to  the  reconstruction  of  the 
Springbok  Mine. 

They  informed  Bruce  confidentially  that  a  thoroughly 
reliable  man  in  Johannesburg,  to  whom  they  had  cabled, 
reported  very  strongly  hi  favor  of  the  property.  They 
would  await  his  written  statement  before  finally  commit- 
ting themselves.  Meanwhile,  if  Messrs.  Dodge,  Son  & 
Co.  (Limited)  were  anxious  to  get  the  business  advanced 
a  stage,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  (Bruce)  should  not 
assure  them  that,  subject  to  the  first  satisfactory  report 
being  confirmed,  his  clients  would  underwrite  the  shares. 
The  whole  thing  would  thus  go  through  in  about  three 

[101] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

weeks.  As  for  Bruce  himself,  they  proposed  to  give  him 
a  commission  of  five  per  cent  in  fully  paid  shares  for  the 
introduction. 

"  Well,  I  never ! "  he  laughed.  "  Now  who  would  have 
thought  such  a  thing  possible  ?  Why,  if  that  rascal  Dodge 
is  right  and  this  company  is  really  a  sound  undertaking, 
my  share  of  the  deal  will  be  £10,000.  It  seems  wildly 
incredible,  yet  my  friends  know  what  they  are  writing 
about  as  a  rule." 

An  hour  later  he  was  in  the  city. 

A  smart  brougham  stood  in  front  of  the  now  thoroughly 
renovated  offices  of  Dodge,  Son  &  Co.  (Limited),  and 
out  of  it,  at  the  moment  the  barrister  detached  himself 
from  the  chaos  of  Leadenhall  Street,  stepped  the  head  of 
the  firm. 

He  was  making  up  the  steps  when  Claude  cried: 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Dodge,  how  is  the  junior  partner  ?  " 

Dodge  stopped,  focussed  Bruce  with  his  sharp  eyes, 
and  smiled: 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  is  it  ?  The  young  'un  is  all  right,  thanks. 
Are  you  coming  in  ?  " 

"That  was  my  intention." 

"  Come  along  then.  I  was  hoping  I  would  see  you  one 
of  these  days." 

"  Has  business  improved  recently  ?  "  inquired  Bruce,  as 
they  entered  the  inner  office. 

"Yes,  somewhat;  but  money  is  very  tight  still.  How- 
ever, we  generally  look  for  a  spurt  early  in  the  New  Year. 
Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  No  valid  reason.     A  mere  hazard." 

"  Was  it  because  you  saw  me  drive  up  in  a  carriage  ?  " 

"Mr.  Dodge,  I  never  dreamt  that  self-consciousness 
was  a  failing  of  the  members  of  the  Stock  Exchange." 

[102] 


Who  Corbett  Was 

"  Then  that  was  the  cause.  I  guessed  it.  I  have  been 
making  inquiries  about  you,  Mr.  Bruce,  and  there  is  no 
use  in  trying  to  fool  you,  not  a  bit." 

"  Have  you  another  Springbok  proposition  on  hand  ?  " 

"No;  bar  chaffing.  You  were  the  man  who  ferreted 
out  the  truth  about  that  West  Australian  combination 
when  everybody  else  had  failed.  And,  now  I  think  of  it, 
you  made  me  talk  a  lot  the  last  time  you  were  here. 
However,  I  am  ready.  Fire  away!  I  will  tell  you  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so  help 
me  — 

"Sh — s — sh!  Do  not  perjure  yourself  for  the  sake  of 
alliteration.  Besides,  it  is  I  who  have  come  to  talk  this 
time." 

"About  Springboks?" 

"  Yes.  The  people  I  mentioned  to  you  at  my  previous 
visit  are  prepared  to  underwrite  the  shares,  provided  that 
their  agent's  report  is  as  favorable  in  its  entirety  as  a 
telegraphic  summary  leads  them  to  believe." 

"Eh?  That's  good  news!  When  will  they  be  in  a 
position  to  complete  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  they  hear  from  South  Africa  by  post.  Say 
three  weeks." 

"  So  long !  But  suppose  I  get  an  offer  from  some  other 
quarter  in  the  meantime?  I  cannot  keep  the  proposal 
open  indefinitely." 

"I  have  not  asked  you  to  do  so,  Mr.  Dodge.  Let  me 
see  —  three  shillings  per  share  on,  say,  two  hundred  thou- 
sand shares  is  £30,000.  It  is  a  good  deal  of  money.  If 
any  one  likes  to  hand  you  a  cheque  for  that  amount  without 
preliminary  investigation,  take  it  by  all  means." 

The  notion  tickled  Dodge  immensely. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Bruce.     When  people  of  that  sort  turn 

[103] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

up  we  don't  sell  'em  Springboks  in  the  City.  But  there 
is  no  harm  in  you  telling  me  your  clients'  names." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  They  are  the  Anglo- African  Finance 
Corporation." 

Mr.  Dodge  whistled.  "  By  Jove,  they're  the  best  back- 
ing I  could  have.  This  is  a  good  turn,  Mr.  Bruce,  and  I 
shan't  forget  it.  You  see,  we're  a  young  firm,  and  asso- 
ciation with  well-known  houses  is  good  for  us  in  every 
sense.  I'm  jolly  glad  now  that  Springboks  are  all  right. 
It  would  never  have  done  for  me  to  introduce  them  to  a 
risky  piece  of  business.  I  am  really  much  obliged  to  you. 
And  now,  how  do  we  stand  ?  " 

"Kindly  explain." 

"  How  much  '  com  *  do  you  want  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

Mr.  Dodge  moved  his  chair  backward  several  feet  in 
sheer  amazement.  "Nothing,  my  dear  sir!  Nonsense! 
It  is  a  big  affair.  Shall  we  say  one  per  cent  in  cash,  or 
two  in  shares.  I  am  not  very  well  off  just  now,  or  —  " 

"Pray  don't  trouble  yourself.  I  have  already  secured 
my  commission  —  five  per  cent  in  fully  paid  shares." 

"But  the  people  who  put  up  the  money  don't  pay  for 
the  privilege  as  a  rule." 

"That  I  know  quite  well.  This  case  is  different.  I 
am  not,  nor  ever  have  been,  a  financial  go-between." 

"  Didn't  you  come  to  see  me  about  the  deal  in  the  first 
instance  ?  " 

It  was  Bruce's  turn  to  hesitate. 

"Not  exactly,"  he  said.  "I  really  wanted  to  know 
something  about  Mr.  Corbett,  and  the  Springbok  business 
arose  out  of  it." 

"Ah,  that  chap  Corbett.  I  have  been  thinking  about 
him.  I  wonder  who  he  can  be  ?  Anyhow,  I  owe  him  my 

[104] 


best  wishes,  as  the  mention  of  his  name  has  had  such 
excellent  results." 

"Well,  that  is  all,"  said  Bruce  rising. 

"  Yes,  thanks.  I  must  now  see  about  raising  the  money 
to  pay  my  own  call.  I  am  interested  in  fifty  thousand 
shares,  you  know." 

"  Then  you  require  some  £7,500  ?  " 

"Yes.  But  that  will  be  easy  when  I  can  say  that  the 
Anglo-African  Finance  people  are  with  me.  Besides,  this 
morning  —  queer  you  should  call  immediately  afterwards 
—  I  have  had  some  wholly  unexpected  news." 

"Indeed?"  Mr.  Dodge  was  in  a  talkative  vein,  and 
Bruce  was  in  no  hurry. 

"  The  very  best ! "  went  on  Dodge  gleefully.  "  You  see, 
there  is  another  man  in  this  affair  with  me.  I  thought  he 
was  as  stony-broke  as  I  am  myself  —  speaking  confiden- 
tially, you  know  —  when  he  suddenly  writes  to  me  saying 
that  he  had  won  a  pot  of  money  at  Monte  Carlo  and  could 
spare  me  £2,000.  What's  the  matter?  Beastly  trying 
weather,  isn't  it  ?  Try  a  nip  of  brandy." 

For  once  in  his  life  the  self-possessed  barrister  had 
blanched  at  a  sudden  revelation.  But  this  was  too  much. 
He  felt  as  though  a  meteorite  had  fallen  on  his  head. 
Nevertheless,  he  grappled  with  the  situation. 

"Dl!    No!"  he  cried.     "How  stupid  of  me.     I  have 
forgotten  my  morning  smoke.     May  I  light  a  cigar  ?  " 
.  "With  pleasure.     You  know  these.     Try  one." 

"  You  were  saying  —  " 

"That's  all.  This  young  fellow,  Mensmore  his  name 
is,  got  mixed  up  with  me  over  a  Calif omian  mine.  I 
thought  he  had  lots  of  coin,  so  when  Springboks  came 
along  he  and  I  went  shares  in  underwriting  them.  The 
public  didn't  feed,  so  we  were  loaded.  I  tried  all  I  knew 

[105] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

to  get  him  to  pay  up,  but  he  absolutely  couldn't.  And 
now  at  the  very  moment  affairs  look  promising  he  writes 
offering  £2,000.  More  than  that,  he  says,  if  necessary, 
he  can  get  the  remainder  of  his  half,  £1750,  from  some- 
body. Where  is  his  letter  ?  " 

Mr.  Dodge  looked  on  his  table.  "  Oh,  here  it  is.  Ad- 
dressed from  'Yacht  White  Heather,'  if  you  please. 
Quite  swell,  eh  ?  Sir  William  Browne !  That's  the  covey. 
I  think  I  will  let  Sir  William  have  'em.  It's  a  good,  solid 
sort  of  name  to  have  on  the  share  register." 

"I  would  if  I  were  you,"  said  Bruce,  hardly  conscious 
of  his  surroundings. 

"  If  you  think  so,  I  will.  By  Jove,  this  has  been  a  good 
morning  for  me.  Come  and  have  lunch." 

"  No,  thanks.  I  have  a  lot  to  attend  to.  By  the  way, 
where  did  Mensmore  live  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  His  address  was  always  at  the  Orleans 
Club." 

Somehow,  Bruce  reached  the  street  and  a  hansom.  As 
the  vehicle  rolled  off  westward  he  crouched  in  a  corner 
and  tried  to  wrestle  with  the  problem  that  befogged  his 
brain. 

Was  Albert  Mensmore  Sydney  H.  Corbett?  Was  he 
Mrs.  Hillmer's  brother?  The  "Bertie"  she  had  spoken 
of  meant  Albert  as  well  as  a  hypothetical  Herbert.  Mens- 
more was  an  old  schoolfellow  of  Sir  Charles  Dyke's.  In 
all  probability  he  knew  Lady  Dyke  as  well.  He  lived  in 
Raleigh  Mansions  under  an  assumed  name,  and  quitted 
bis  abode  two  days  after  the  murder. 

Every  circumstance  pointed  to  the  terrible  assumption 
that  at  Mensmore's  hands  the  unfortunate  lady  met  her 
death.  And  Bruce  had  sworn  to  avenge  her  memory! 

He  laughed  with  savage  mirth  as  he  reflected  that  he 

[106] 


Who  Corbett  Was 

himself  had  helped  this  man  to  escape  the  punishment  of 
Providence,  self-inflicted.  It  was,  indeed,  pitifully  amus- 
ing to  think  how  the  clever  detective  had  used  his  powers 
to  befool  himself.  The  very  openness  of  the  clue  had 
helped  to  conceal  it  the  more  effectually.  Were  it  not  for 
Dodge  and  his  Springboks  he  might  have  gone  on  indefi- 
nitely covering  up  the  criminal's  tracks  by  his  own  friendly 
actions.  The  situation  was  maddening,  intolerable. 
Bruce  wanted  to  seize  the  reins  and  flog  the  horse  into 
a  mad  gallop  through  the  traffic  as  a  relief  to  his 
feelings. 

Blissfully  unconscious  of  the  living  volcano  he  carried 
within,  the  cabby  on  the  perch  did  not  indulge  in  any  such 
illegal  antics.  He  quietly  drove  along  the  Embankment 
and  delivered  his  seething  fare  at  his  Victoria-street 
chambers. 

Quite  oblivious  of  commonplace  affairs,  the  barrister 
threw  a  shilling  to  the  driver  and  darted  out. 

The  man  gazed  at  his  Majesty's  image  with  the  air  of 
one  who  had  never  before  seen  such  a  coin.  It  might 
have  been  a  Greek  obolus,  so  utter  was  his  blank 
astonishment. 

But  Bruce  was  across  the  pavement,  and  cabby  had  to 
find  words,  else  it  would  be  too  late. 

"Here  guv'nor,"  he  yelled,  "what  the  ballyhooley  do 
you  call  this?" 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  was  the  impatient  query. 

"  Matter ! "  The  cabman  looked  towards  the  sky  to  see 
if  the  heavens  were  falling.  "Matter!"  in  a  higher  key, 
as  a  crowd  began  to  gather.  "  I  tykes  him  from  Leaden- 
'all  Street  to  Victoria.  'E  gives  me  a  bob,  an'  'e  arsks  me 
wot's  the  matter.  I'd  been  on  the  ranks  four  bloomin' 
hours—" 

[107] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Oh,  there  you  are ! "  and  Bruce  threw  him  half-a-crown 
before  he  disappeared  up  the  steps. 

Mr.  White  was  watching  for  Bruce's  arrival.  He  won- 
dered why  the  barrister  was  so  perturbed,  and  resolved  to 
strike  while  the  iron  was  hot.  So  he,  too,  vanished  into 
the  interior. 


[108] 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  QUESTION   OF  PRINCIPLE 

"  IF  any  one  calls,  I  am  out,"  cried  Claude  to  his  facto- 
tum, as  he  crossed  the  entrance-hall  of  his  well-appointed 
flat,  and  flung  open  the  door  of  his  library. 

"The  guv'nor's  in  a  tantrum,"  observed  Smith  to  his 
wife,  and  he  settled  himself  to  renew  the  perusal  of  Grand 
National  training  reports.  He  had  just  noticed  the  inter- 
esting fact  that  last  year's  winner  had  "  jumped  in  for  the 
last  mile"  in  a  gallop  given  to  a  rank  outsider,  when  the 
electric  bell  upset  his  calculations. 

"  My  master  is  out,"  he  said,  as  he  opened  the  door  to 
find  Mr.  White  standing  on  the  mat. 

He  was  about  to  close  the  door  again,  but  the  detective 
planted  his  foot  against  the  jamb. 

"Your  master  is  not  out,"  he  answered.  "I  saw  him 
come  in  a  minute  since.  Tell  him  Mr.  White  wants  to 
see  him." 

Smith's  dignity  was  superb.  "  My  master  may  be  hin," 
he  cried,  "but  'e  told  me  to  say  'e  was  hout  to  callers." 
The  aspirates  supplied  emphasis. 

"  Tell  him  what  I  say  at  once,"  and  Mr.  White  gave  him 
his  best  "  accessory-after-the-crime  "  glance. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should,"  snarled  Smith,  but  the 
squabble  ended  when  Bruce's  voice  was  heard  — 

"  Show  him  in,  Smith,  but  admit  nobody  else." 

[109] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

With  an  air  of  armed  neutrality  Smith  ushered  the 
representative  of  Scotland  Yard  into  the  library. 

"You're  not  looking  very  well,  sir,"  said  White,  his 
round  eyes  fixed  on  Bruce  with  all  their  power. 

"  Was  it  to  ask  about  my  health  that  you  came  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  not  exactly.  But  I  haven't  seen  you  for  quite 
a  while,  and  as  we  are  both  interested  in  the  same 
matter  I  thought  I  would  look  you  up  and  compare 
notes." 

Bruce  was  annoyed  by  the  interruption.  He  wanted  to 
think,  not  to  be  bothered  by  official  theories.  He  looked 
hard  at  Mr.  White,  wondering  whether  he  should  tell  him 
all  he  knew  and  wash  his  own  hands  clear  of  the  investi- 
gation in  future.  But  there  was  a  second  picture  before 
his  eyes.  He  saw  Phyllis  Browne's  face,  not  as  it  was  that 
day  at  the  Tir  aux  Pigeons,  but  with  the  light  of  happiness 
in  it,  with  the  joyousness  of  requited  and  undisturbed  love, 
with  the  glow  reflected  from  dancing  waves,  and  the  trem- 
ulous smile  of  innocent  pleasure. 

It  was  hard  to  believe  that  such  a  woman  could  place 
her  heartfelt  trust  in  a  man  who  was  possibly  a  cold- 
blooded murderer.  Such  a  combination  was  unnatural 
and  horrible.  Already  Bruce  was  beginning  to  doubt  the 
evidence  of  his  analytical  senses. 

Mr.  White  meanwhile  flattered  himself  by  the  thought 
that  the  other  was  trying  to  read  his  thoughts  by  looking 
at  him  fixedly. 

"I  have  been  away  from  home,"  said  Bruce  at  last. 
"I  had  occasion  to  go  to  the  South  of  France." 

"  I  thought  so.  I  was  sure  of  it.  How  do  you  manage 
always  to  get  ahead  of  us  ?  "  Mr.  White  was  enthusiastic 
in  his  admiring  divination. 

"  You  have  heard  about  Sydney  H.  Corbett  ?  "  said  the 

[110] 


A  Question  of  Principle 

barrister,  still  keeping  that  inscrutable,  calculating  gaze 
upon  the  policeman. 

"Yes.  I  am  on  his  track.  We  may  be  slow,  but  we 
are  sure  in  Scotland  Yard.  May  I  ask  what  luck  you 
have  had,  sir?" 

"In  what  respect?'* 

"As  if  you  didn't  go  to  Monte  Carlo  to  find  Corbett 
yourself!  Really,  Mr.  Bruce,  the  scent  is  too  hot  this 
time.  You  might  as  well  give  a  '  View  halloa '  if  you  have 
seen  him." 

"  Seen  Sydney  H.  Corbett,  you  mean  ? " 

"That  is  the  gentleman." 

For  an  instant  Mensmore's  future  trembled  in  the 
balance.  Bruce  almost  framed  the  words  which  would 
have  led  to  his  immediate  arrest  at  the  next  port  touched 
by  the  White  Heather.  But  the  memory  of  Phyllis 
Browne,  of  her  agony,  of  the  fearful  scandal  that  must 
fly  through  Society  on  the  Riviera,  restrained  him.  There 
was  no  hurry.  He  must  have  time  to  think. 

"  I  certainly  went  to  Monte  Carlo  to  discover  the  identity 
of  that  interesting  personage,  but  I  came  back,  Mr.  White, 
as  wise  as  I  went.  The  only  trace  I  found  of  him  was 
an  undelivered  letter  awaiting  him  at  the  Hotel  du 
Cercle." 

"  A  letter !  Wasn't  he  there  ?  "  Mr.  White's  face,  not- 
withstanding its  official  decorum,  betrayed  its  disap- 
pointment. This  was  an  unlooked-for  check. 

"  He  had  been  there.  Other  letters  came  for  him  earlier, 
and  he  had  received  them." 

"But  the  hotel  people—" 

"Did  not  know  him.  In  fact,  there  cannot  be  the 
slightest  doubt  that  Mr.  Corbett  concealed  his  identity  at 
Monte  Carlo  under  another  name." 

[Ill] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  It  doesn't  matter  much,"  growled  the  detective.  "  We 
will  nab  him  all  the  same,  if  he  had  fifty  names." 

"Possibly.  But  it  is  wonderful  how  a  man  may  be 
under  your  very  nose,  and  yet  you  may  miss  him." 

During  the  next  few  minutes  neither  man  spoke.  Bruce 
smiled  cynically  at  the  thought  that  he  was  actually  shield- 
ing Lady  Alice's  probable  slayer  from  the  minions  of  the 
law.  He  marvelled  at  himself  for  his  irresolution.  Never- 
theless, he  would  wait.  Mensmore  could  not  escape  him 
now.  Perhaps  the  business  might  be  managed  without 
the  dramatic  features  which  would  accompany  an  imme- 
diate arrest.  And  there  were  some  things  that  required 
explanation.  If  his  Monte  Carlo  acquaintance  really 
killed  Lady  Dyke,  then  he  was  the  strangest  criminal  whom 
Bruce  had  ever  encountered  during  the  course  of  his 
varied  career. 

The  policeman  misinterpreted  his  expression. 

"You  can't  laugh  at  us  this  time,  Mr.  Bruce,"  he  cried. 
"Scotland  Yard  and  yourself  evolved  the  same  theory, 
eh  ?  And  we  can't  fly  off  to  the  South  of  France  as  readily 
as  you." 

"Your  skill  is  profound,  no  doubt.  Indeed,  I  wonder 
at  it,  considering  the  mysterious  way  in  which  the  missing 
man  left  his  address  at  the  post-office." 

The  other  reddened.  "That  was  simple  enough,  I 
know;  but  we  were  on  his  track  before  that." 

"By  watching  me  when  I  visited  his  sister." 

"  You  saw  me  outside  the  Jollity  Theatre,  then  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     What  did  you  expect  ?  " 

Mr.  White  recovered  his  placidity.  "There's  no  use 
quarrelling  about  it,"  he  laughed.  "  I  did  get  that  wrinkle 
from  you.  But  how  on  earth  were  we  to  know  what  to 
do,  when  there  were  seventy-one  flats  occupied  by  respect- 

[112] 


A  Question  of  Principle 

able  people,  and  one  closed  for  months,  the  caretaker 
told  us." 

"I  hope  you  have  ceased  your  surveillance  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned." 

"Honor  bright,  sir.  I  won't  do  it  again.  Besides,  we 
must  lay  hands  on  Corbett  sooner  or  later." 

"What  steps  are  you  taking?" 

"  The  Monte  Carlo  police  are  making  inquiries.  They 
have  his  description.  It  has  also  gone  to  America." 

"  Why  America  ?  " 

"  Because  he  spent  some  time  there.  He  only  returned 
from  the  States  early  last  year.  His  sister  has  not  seen 
him  for  years,  and  a  rare  old  row  they  had  when  he  turned 
up.  He  had  not  much  money,  so  she  helped  him,  and  he 
settled  down  for  a  time  in  the  same  mansions  as  herself." 

"Who  told  you  all  this?" 

"Mrs.  Hillmer,  and  a  precious  lot  of  trouble  she  gave 
me.  She  is  a  clever  woman  that." 

"  It  was  rather  too  bad  to  pester  her  about  it,  poor  lady." 

"  I  only  followed  your  lead,  sir." 

This  was  so  true  that  Claude  changed  the  conversation. 

"What  sort  of  man  is  Corbett?  Have  you  his  de- 
scription ?  " 

"Yes.  Here  it  is."  Mr.  White  produced  a  copy  of 
the  Police  Gazette,  a  publication  never  seen  by  the  public, 
but  of  a  large  circulation  among  the  police  of  the  United 
Kingdom.  The  details  were  fairly  accurate  as  to  Mens- 
more's  personal  appearance,  but  there  was  no  photograph. 
Oddly  enough,  Bruce  was  pleased  on  noting  this  serious 
deficiency. 

"  You  did  not  secure  his  picture  ?  " 

"  No.  Mrs.  Hillmer  declared  that  she  had  not  a  single 
photograph  of  her  brother  in  her  possession." 

[113] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Did  she  —  tell  you  his  real  name  ?  "  the  barrister  had 
almost  said,  but  he  deflected  the  question.  "  Did  she  give 
you  any  hint  as  to  a  possible  cause  for  this  apparently 
unnecessary  crime?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"Then  you  did  not  mention  Lady  Dyke  to  her?" 

"  No.  Sir  Charles  has  always  implored  me  to  keep  his 
wife's  name  out  of  my  inquiries  until  it  became  absolutely 
impossible  to  conceal  it  in  view  of  a  public  prosecution. 
He  wants  to  know  definitely  when  that  time  comes." 

"Why?" 

The  detective  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  When  he 
spoke  he  leaned  forward  and  subdued  his  voice.  "I  am 
as  sure  as  I  am  sitting  here,  sir,  that  Sir  Charles  will  not 
live  if  any  disgrace  should  come  to  be  attached  to  his 
wife's  memory." 

"Do  you  mean  that  he  will  kill  himself?" 

"I  do.  He  has  changed  a  great  deal  since  this  affair 
happened.  He  is  not  the  same  man.  He  appears  to  be 
always  mooning  about  her.  And  people  say  that  they 
were  not  so  devoted  to  one  another  when  she  was  alive." 

Again  did  the  barrister  switch  off  their  talk  from  an 
unpleasant  topic. 

"This  description  of  Corbett  is  not  much  use,"  he  said. 
"It  applies  to  every  athletic  young  Englishman  of  good 
physique  and  gentlemanly  appearance." 

"  Quite  true.  I  don't  depend  on  that  for  his  arrest,  but 
it  will  be  valuable  for  identification.  'Blue  eyes,  light 
brown  hair,  fresh,  clear  complexion,  well-modelled  nose 
and  chin.'  Some  of  these  things  can  be  changed  by 
tricks,  but  not  all.  For  instance,  there  would  be  no  use 
in  smoking  a  man  with  black  eyes  and  irregular  features." 

"'Smoking'  him?" 

[114] 


A  Question  of  Principle 

"Oh,  that's  our  way  of  putting  it.  Following  him,  it 
means." 

"Suppose  the  French  police  don't  succeed  in  catching 
him?" 

"  We  will  get  him  at  Raleigh  Mansions.  He  is  sure  to 
think  that  Lady  Dyke's  fate  has  never  been  determined, 
and  he  will  return  when  the  inquiry  has  blown  over,  to  all 
appearance." 

"  You  have  quite  made  up  your  mind,  then,  that  Sydney 
H.  Corbett  is  the  murderer  ?  " 

"It  looks  uncommonly  like  it.  At  any  rate,  he  knows 
something  about  it.  If  not,  why  did  he  bolt  to  France  two 
days  after  the  crime  ?  Why  has  he  concealed  his  identity  ? 
Why  does  he  take  pains  to  receive  his  correspondence  in 
the  manner  he  has  adopted  ?  And,  by  Jove !  suppose  he 
isn't  in  Monte  Carlo  at  all,  but  in  London  all  the  time ! " 

The  inspector  glowed  with  his  sudden  inspiration,  but 
Bruce  kept  him  to  the  lower  level  of  realities. 

"  Corbett  is,  or  was,  in  Monte  Carlo.  Of  that  you  may 
be  sure.  He,  and  none  other,  got  the  letters -sent  to  the 
Hotel  du  Cercle.  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  imagine  why 
he  did  not  take  the  last  one.  But  let  us  look  at  what  we 
know.  Lady  Dyke,  we  will  say,  went  to  Corbett's  cham- 
bers, secretly  and  of  her  own  accord.  That  may  be  taken 
as  fairly  established.  Thence  there  is  a  blank  in  our 
intelligence  until  she  appears  as  a  hardly  recognizable 
corpse,  stuffed  by  hands  beneath  an  old  drain-pipe  in  the 
Thames  at  Putney.  How  do  you  fill  up  that  gap,  Mr. 
White?" 

"Simply  enough.  Corbett,  or  some  other  person,  per- 
suaded her  to  voluntarily  accompany  him  to  Putney. 
She  was  killed  there,  and  not  in  London.  It  would  be 
almost  a  matter  of  impossibility  for  any  man  to  have 

[115] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

conveyed  her  lifeless  body  from  Raleigh  Mansions  to 
Putney  without  attracting  some  notice.  One  man  could 
not  do  it.  Several  might,  but  it  is  madness  to  imagine 
that  a  number  of  people  would  join  together  for  the  purpose 
of  killing  this  poor  lady." 

"The  seemingly  impossible  is  often  accomplished." 

"  Do  you  really  believe,  then,  that  she  met  her  death  in 
London  ? " 

"  I  have  quite  an  open  mind  on  the  question." 

"You  forget  that  she  had  resolved  early  that  day  to 
visit  her  sister  at  Richmond,  and  Putney  is  on  the  direct 
road.  What  more  reasonable  than  to  assume  —  " 

"Beware  of  assumptions!  You  are  assuming  all  the 
time  that  Corbett  was  a  principal  in  her  murder." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Bruce.  Then  I  ask  you  straight  out 
if  you  don't  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"I  do  not." 

.  This  declaration  astounded  the  barrister  himself.  Often 
the  mere  utterance  of  one's  thoughts  is  a  surprise.  Speech 
seems  to  stiffen  the  wavering  outlines  of  reflection,  and  the 
new  creation  may  differ  essentially  from  its  embryo.  It 
was  so  with  Bruce  in  this  instance. 

Ever  since  Mr.  White's  arrival  had  aroused  him  from 
the  positive  stupor  caused  by  the  stock-broker's  unwitting 
revelation,  Claude  Bruce  had  been  slowly  but  definitely 
deciding  that  Mensmore  did  not  kill  Lady  Dyke.  He  had 
seen  him,  unprepared,  facing  death  as  preferable  to  dis- 
honor. At  such  moments  a  man's  soul  is  laid  bare. 
With  the  shadow  of  a  crime  upon  his  conscience  Mens- 
more's  actions  could  not  have  been  so  genuine  and  straight- 
forward as  they  undoubtedly  were. 

Mensmore,  of  course,  might  in  some  way  be  bound  up 
with  the  mystery  surrounding  Lady  Dyke's  movements. 

[116] 


A  Question  of  Principle 

His  very  utterance  in  Bruce's  room  at  the  Hotel  du  Cercle 
implied  as  much.  That  was  another  matter.  It  would 
receive  his  (Bruce's)  most  earnest  attention.  But  the 
major  hypothesis,  so  quickly  jumped  at  by  the  police, 
needed  much  more  substantiation  than  it  had  yet  ob- 
tained. 

That  it  was  plausible  was  demonstrated  by  the  barris- 
ter's readiness  to  adopt  it  at  the  outset.  Even  now  that 
his  impulse  to  fasten  the  crime  on  Mensmore  had  weakened 
he  wondered  at  his  eagerness  to  defend  him. 

The  detective  was  even  more  surprised. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  take  that  view,"  he  cried. 
"Corbett's  behavior  is,  to  say  the  least,  unaccountable. 
If  he  is  an  innocent  man,  then  he  must  be  a  foolish  one. 
Besides,  why  should  he  necessarily  be  innocent  ?  This  is 
the  first  gleam  of  light  we  have  had  in  a  very  dark  business, 
and  I  mean  to  follow  it  up." 

The  vindictive  emphasis  of  his  tone  showed  that  the 
detective  was  annoyed  at  the  other's  impassive  attitude. 
He  even  went  so  far  as  to  dimly  evolve  a  theory  that  the 
barrister  wished  to  throw  him  off  Corbett's  trail  on  account 
of  his  sympathy  for  Mrs.  Hillmer,  but  Claude  rapidly 
dispelled  this  notion. 

"You  are  here,  I  suppose,  to  ask  my  advice  in  pur- 
suance of  our  understanding  that  we  are  working  together 
in  the  matter,  as  it  were  ? "  he  said. 

"  Well,  something  of  the  kind,  sir." 

"Then  I  recommend  that  we  see  the  inside  of  that 
closed  flat  in  Raleigh  Mansions  at  the  earliest  moment." 

"  Do  you  mean  by  a  search  warrant  ? " 

"  Certainly  not.  Do  you  want  the  whole  neighborhood 
to  know  of  it  ?  You  have  probably  heard  of  locks  being 
picked  before  to-day.  You  and  I,  and  none  other,  must 

[117] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

have  a  quiet  look  around  the  place  without  anyone  being 
the  wiser." 

Mr.  White  hesitated,  but  the  prospect  was  attractive. 
"I  think  I  can  manage  it,"  he  said,  smiling  reflectively. 
"Will  six  this  evening  suit?" 

"Admirably." 

"Then  I  will  call  for  you." 

After  a  parting  glance  at  Smith,  who  returned  it,  nose 
in  air,  the  inspector  ran  down  the  stairs,  murmuring, 
"  Blest  if  I  can  understand  Mr.  Bruce.  But  this  is  a  good 
move.  We  may  learn  something." 


[118] 


CHAPTER  XIV 
NO   12   RALEIGH  MANSIONS 

WHEN  the  door  of  Corbett's  or  Mensmore's  flat  swung 
open  before  the  skilful  application  of  a  skeleton  key,  a 
gust  of  cold  air  swept  from  the  interior  blackness,  and 
whirled  an  accumulation  of  dust  down  the  stairs. 

It  is  curious  how  a  disused  house  seems  to  bottle  up, 
as  it  were,  an  atmospheric  accumulation  which  always 
seeks  to  escape  at  the  first  available  moment.  Emptiness 
is  more  than  a  mere  word;  it  has  life  and  the  power  of 
growth.  A  residence  closed  for  a  week  is  less  depressing 
than  if  it  has  not  been  inhabited  for  a  month.  If  the 
period  of  neglect  be  lengthened  into  a  year,  the  sense  of 
dreariness  is  magnified  immeasurably. 

In  this  instance,  the  mysterious  abode  might  have  been 
the  abiding-place  of  disembodied  spirits,  so  cold  was  its 
aspect,  so  uninviting  the  dim  vista  that  sprung  into  un- 
certain vision  under  the  flickering  rays  of  a  wax  vesta 
struck  by  the  detectives. 

But  neither  the  policeman  nor  his  companion  was  a 
nervous  subject. 

They  entered  at  once,  closed  the  door  by  its  latch,  and, 
aided  by  other  matches,  found  the  switch  of  the  electric 
light. 

In  this  brighter  radiance  the  indefinable  vanished. 
The  flat  became  a  cosy,  fairly  well  appointed  bachelor's 

[119] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  diggings,"  neglected  and  untidy,  yet  not  without  a  sem- 
blance of  comfort,  which  only  needed  the  presence  of  a 
sturdy  housemaid  and  a  fire  to  be  converted  into  the 
ordinary  chambers  with  which  the  locality  abounds. 

Their  first  care  was  to  draw  down  all  the  blinds,  the 
neglect  of  which  housewifely  proceeding  argued  the  care- 
less departure  of  a  mere  male  when  the  place  was  vacated. 

A  rapid  preliminary  survey  followed,  and  drew  from 
Bruce  the  remark : 

"Furnished  by  a  woman,  but  occupied  by  a  man." 

Mr.  White  agreed,  but  he  didn't  know  why,  so  he  put 
a  tentative  question  on  the  point. 

"Don't  you  see,"  said  Bruce,  "that  the  carpets  match 
the  upholstery  of  the  furniture,  that  the  beds  have  valances, 
that  the  spare  bedroom  for  a  guest  is  even  more  elaborate 
than  that  used  by  the  tenant,  that  care  has  been  taken  in 
fitting  up  the  kitchen,  and  taste  displayed  in  the  selection 
of  pieces  of  bric-a-brac  ?  Only  a  woman  attends  to  these 
things.  On  the  other  hand,  a  card  tray  has  been  used  as 
a  receptacle  for  a  cigar  ash,  the  pictures — no  woman  ever 
buys  a  picture  —  have  been  picked  up  promiscuously 
from  shops  where  they  sell  sporting  prints,  and  the  sides 
of  the  mantelpieces  are  chipped  by  having  feet  propped 
against  them.  There  are  plenty  of  other  signs,  but  these 
suffice. 

Thenceforth  the  two  men  devoted  themselves  to  their 
task,  each  after  his  kind. 

The  representative  of  Scotland  Yard  hunted  for  docu- 
ments, photographs,  torn  envelopes;  he  looked  at  the 
covers  of  books  to  see  if  they  were  inscribed;  he  opened 
every  drawer,  ransacked  every  corner,  peered  into  the 
interior  of  jars,  pots,  and  ovens;  appraised  the  value  of 
furniture,  noted  its  age,  and  was  specially  zealous  in 

[120] 


No.   12  Raleigh  Mansions 

studying  the  appearance  of  the  only  bedroom  which  had 
been  occupied  so  far  as  he  could  judge. 

Bruce,  having  given  a  casual  glance  around,  entered  the 
sitting-room,  selected  the  most  comfortable  chair,  and 
proceeded  to  envelope  himself  in  smoke. 

He  had  not  spent  two  minutes  in  Mensmore's  flat  before 
he  made  a  striking  discovery. 

The  dwelling  consisted  of  a  central  passage,  dividing 
two  equal  portions  from  the  other.  That  on  the  right 
contained  a  drawing-room  and  a  large  bedroom,  with 
dressing-room  attached.  On  the  left  were  another  bed- 
room, a  dining-room,  a  kitchen,  and  a  store-room.  At  the 
end  of  the  passage,  which  terminated  in  the  transverse 
corridor,  were  the  bathroom,  a  pantry,  and  a  small  room, 
empty  now,  but  apparently  designed  for  a  servant's 
bedroom. 

The  furniture,  as  has  been  stated,  was  good  in  quality 
and  sufficient  for  its  purposes.  But  the  fact  which  imme- 
diately impressed  this  skilled  observer  was  that  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  sitting-room  differed  essentially  from  the 
other  details  of  the  flat. 

The  same  care  had  not  been  taken  in  the  disposition  of 
the  articles.  They  had  been  dumped  down  anyhow,  with- 
out taste  or  regard  for  suitable  position.  The  carpet  had 
not  been  bought  for  this  special  apartment  like  the  carpets 
elsewhere.  A  handsome  ebony  cabinet  stood  in  the  wrong 
place.  The  blue  china  ornaments  obviously  intended  to 
fill  its  shelves  were  littered  about  the  mantelpiece  or  on 
small  tables,  while  the  Satsuma  ware  meant  for  the  over- 
mantel was  stiffly  disposed  on  the  cabinet. 

Small  matters  these,  but  Bruce  thought  them  more 
fruitful  of  accurate  theory  than  the  detective's  hunt  for 
a  written  history  of  the  crime! 

[121] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

So,  as  he  smoked,  he  mused  and  examined. 

"The  drawing-room  was  the  last  place  to  be  furnished," 
he  thought.  "The  usual  course.  It  remained  empty  for 
some  time  probably.  The  rest  of  the  flat  was  arranged 
by  a  woman  —  Mrs.  Hillmer  in  all  likelihood  —  before 
the  arrival  of  her  brother.  Then  he  came  and  tackled  the 
vacant  room.  The  history  of  the  place  is  as  plain  as 
though  I  were  present.  More  than  that,  a  woman  — 
Mrs.  Hillmer  again,  let  us  say  —  fixed  upon  these  latter 
purchases,  but  without  measurements.  She  did  not  per- 
sonally see  to  their  adaptability,  and  she  certainly  did  not 
supervise  their  final  arrangement.  Now,  why  was  that? 
Again,  these  things  are  more  worn  than  those  in  the  other 
rooms.  Were  they  bought  second-hand?  If  so,  why? 
A  woman  thinks  most  of  her  drawing-room.  It  is  the 
last  place  in  which  she  would  economize." 

Mr.  White  entered,  anxious  and  puzzled. 

"Found  anything?"  inquired  Claude,  without  looking 
at  him. 

"Not  a  rag,  not  a  piece  of  old  newspaper  with  a  date 
on  it.  A  lot  of  papers  were  burned  in  the  kitchen  grate, 
but  from  the  remnants  I  judge  that  they  were  mostly 
bills." 

"  The  place  has  been  systematically  cleared,  eh  ?  " 

"It  looks  like  it." 

"Going  to  hunt  here?" 

"Yes.  You  don't  seem  to  take  much  interest  in  the 
premises,  Mr.  Bruce,  though  you  persuaded  me  to  do  a 
bit  of  house-breaking  in  order  to  get  here." 

"  I  find  the  quietude  good  for  thought,  Mr.  White.  Be 
good  enough  not  to  make  more  noise  than  is  absolutely 
necessary." 

The  other  sniffed.     He  was  disappointed.     He  hoped 

[122] 


No.  12  Raleigh  Mansions 

for  something  tangible  from  this  visit,  and  the  outlook  was 
far  from  promising. 

"  This  room  appears  to  have  been  lived  in  a  good  deal," 
he  growled. 

"That  is  one  way  of  looking  at  it." 

"  Is  there  any  other  way  ?  "  His  voice  snapped  out  the 
question  as  if  he  held  the  barrister  personally  responsible 
for  his  failure  to  gain  a  clue. 

"No,  Mr.  White,  I  should  have  guessed  your  point  of 
view  exactly." 

"  My  point  of  view,  indeed !  Do  you  want  me  to  draw 
up  another  chair  and  light  a  pipe?  Should  we  be  en- 
lightened by  tobacco  smoke  ?  " 

"I  cannot  trust  your  tobacco.     Try  a  cigar." 

The  detective  angrily  thumped  a  Chesterfield  lounge 
to  see  if  it  betrayed  aught  suspicious. 

At  that  instant  Bruce's  glance  rested  on  the  fire-place. 
The  grate  contained  the  ashes  of  a  fire,  —  a  fire  not  long 
lighted.  This,  combined  with  the  undrawn  blinds,  argued 
a  departure  early  in  the  morning. 

"  He  went  to  Monte  Carlo  by  the  day  Channel  service," 
mused  Bruce.  "  He  may  have  departed  a  few  hours  after 
Lady  Dyke's  death,  as  Mrs.  Hillmer  was  not  certain  as 
to  the  exact  date." 

Somehow  the  few  cinders  attracted  him.  They  had, 
perchance,  witnessed  a  tragedy. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  smoking.  He  was  so  startled  by 
something  he  had  seen  that  the  policeman  must  have 
noticed  his  agitation  were  not  the  detective  at  that  instant 
intently  screwing  his  eyes  to  peer  behind  the  back  of  the 
elaborate  cabinet. 

On  the  hearth  was  a  handsome  Venetian  fender.  Into- 
each  end  was  loosely  socketed  a  beautifully  moulded  piece 

[123] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

of  ironwork  to  hold  the  fire-irons.  That  on  the  left  was 
whole,  but  from  that  on  the  right  a  small  spike  had  been 
broken  off. 

By  comparison  with  its  fellow  the  missing  portion  was 
identical  with  the  bit  of  iron  found  imbedded  in  the  skull 
of  the  murdered  woman.  Of  this  damning  fact  Bruce  had 
no  manner  of  doubt,  though  the  incriminatory  article 
itself  was  then  locked  in  a  drawer  in  his  own  residence. 

He  did  not  move.     He  sat  as  one  transfixed. 

What  a  weapon  for  such  a  deed!  Was  ever  more  out- 
landish instrument  used  with  murderous  intent?  The 
entire  bracket  could  easily  be  detached  from  the  fender, 
and  would,  no  doubt,  inflict  a  terrible  blow.  But  why 
seize  this  clumsy  device  when  it  actually  supported  a 
heavy  brass  poker? 

The  thing  savored  of  madness,  of  the  wild  vagary  of  a 
homicidal  maniac.  It  was  incomprehensible,  strange 
beyond  belief. 

Yet  as  Bruce  pictured  the  final  scene  in  that  tragedy, 
as  he  saw  the  ill-fated  lady  stagger  helplessly  to  the  ground 
before  a  treacherous  and  crushing  stroke,  a  fierce  light 
leaped  into  his  face,  and  his  lips  set  tight  with  unflinching 
purpose. 

Had  Mensmore  been  within  reach  at  that  moment  he 
would  assuredly  have  been  lodged  in  a  felon's  cell  forth- 
with. No  excuse,  no  palliation,  would  be  accepted.  The 
man  who  could  so  foully  slay  a  gentle,  kindly,  high-minded 
woman  deserved  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law,  no  matter 
what  the  circumstances  that  led  to  the  commission  of  the 
crime. 

It  was  not  often  that  Bruce  allowed  impulse  to  master 
reason  so  utterly. 

In  strange  altruistic  mood  he  asked  himself  why  he  did 

[124] 


No.  12  Raleigh  Mansions 

not  spring  from  his  chair,  and,  tearing  the  bracket  from 
its  supports,  exhibit  it  to  his  fellow-worker,  while  he  gave, 
in  a  few  passionate  sentences,  the  information  that  would 
set  the  French  police  to  scour  the  Mediterranean  littoral 
until  they  found  the  White  Heather.  Of  what  matter  to 
him  was  the  suffering  of  a  sister  or  sweetheart  ?  Did  the 
man  who  killed  Lady  Dyke  reck  of  these  things?  Yes, 
he  would  do  it  — 

But  a  cry  of  triumph  from  the  detective  arrested  the 
fateful  words  even  as  they  trembled  on  his  lips.  "  Here's 
a  find ! "  was  the  shout.  "  Thinking  is  all  very  well,  Mr. 
Bruce,  but  hard  work  is  better.  What  do  you  make  of 
that?" 

"That"  was  a  letter,  which,  in  the  manner  known  to 
many  a  puzzled  householder,  had  slipped  down  behind  a 
drawer  in  the  cabinet,  to  be  crushed  against  the  wardrobe 
at  the  back,  and  lie  there  forgotten  and  unnoticed. 

Even  in  his  perturbed  state  the  barrister  could  not  help 
glancing  at  the  crumpled  document,  first  noting  the  date, 
October  15th  of  the  year  just  closed,  with  the  superscrip- 
tion, "Mountain  Butts,  Wyoming,"  There  was  no 
envelope. 

It  was  addressed  to  "Dear  Bertie,"  and  ran  as  follows: 

"  Your  welcome  note  and  its  draft  for  fifty  dollars  came 
to  hand  last  week.  My  sisters  and  I  can  never  forget  your 
generosity.  We  know  you  are  hard  up,  and  that  you  can 
ill  spare  these  frequent  gifts,  or  loans,  as  you  are  pleased 
to  call  them.  You  and  I  have  been  in  many  a  tight  place, 
old  chap,  and  I  never  knew  you  to  fail  either  with  hand  or 
heart.  And  when  we  drifted  into  this  ranch,  on  my 
advice,  and  nearly  starved  to  death,  it  was  you  who  were 

[125] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

bold  enough  to  cut  yourself  adrift  so  that  you  might  make 
something  to  keep  the  pot  boiling. 

"But  the  tide  is  turning.  You  know  my  failing;  this 
time  I  will  try  not  to  be  too  sanguine.  There  have  been 
big  gold  discoveries  in  this  country.  It  is  now  firmly 
believed  that  all  our  land  is  auriferous,  and  the  scoundrel 
who  sold  us  this  beggarly  ranch  has  tried  to  upset  our 
title.  Thanks  to  your  foresight,  he  was  knocked  out  at 
the  first  round.  So  I  may  soon  have  big  news  for  you. 
By  Jove,  won't  it  be  a  change  if  we  both  become  rich! 
And  won't  we  all  have  a  time  in  Paris !  However,  I  must 
not  promise  too  much.  I  have  been  taught  caution  by 
repeated  failures.  Write  by  return,  and  say  if  this  reaches 
you  all  right.  Your  faithful  friend, 

"SYDNEY  H.  CORBETT." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  cried  the  detective,  when 
Bruce  had  slowly  mastered  the  contents  of  the  letter. 

"Think!    I  am  too  dazed  to  think." 

"We  can  now  learn  all  about  him  from  America." 

"About  whom?" 

"  About  Corbett,  of  course." 

"Then  did  Corbett  travel  by  the  same  mail  as  this 
letter  in  order  to  murder  Lady  Dyke  ?  It  is  dated  October 
15th,  and  she  was  killed  November  6th.  It  takes  twelve 
days,  at  the  quickest,  for  a  letter  to  come  here  from 
Wyoming.  And  Corbett,  the  writer  of  it,  not  the  receiver, 
must  have  travelled  in  the  same  steamer,  or  its  immediate 
successor." 

Mr.  White's  face  fell,  but  he  stuck  to  his  point: 

"Anyhow,  Corbett  was  here  about  that  time.  I  have 
seen  the  secretary  to  the  company  that  owns  these  flats. 
Corbett  took  the  rooms  for  six  months  from  September 

[126] 


No.  12  Raleigh  Mansions 

first.  When  asked  for  references  he  gave  his  sister's  name, 
and  as  she  banks  with  the  National  —  and  she  has  always 
paid  her  rent  for  five  years  —  it  was  good  enough.  Still, 
I  must  confess  that  Corbett  could  hardly  be  in  Wyoming 
in  October  if  he  lived  here  in  September  and  in  November." 

The  barrister  answered  between  his  set  teeth:  "Yes,  it 
is  rather  puzzling." 

"Perhaps  the  letter  was  left  there  as  a  plant." 

"An  elaborate  one.  It  must  have  been  conceived  a 
month  before  the  murder." 

"  But  suppose  it  never  came  from  Wyoming.  We  have 
no  proof  that  it  was  written  in  America." 

"We  have  proof  of  nothing  at  present." 

"Well,  Mr.  Bruce,  have  you  a  theory?  This  is  the 
place  where  you  ought  to  shine,  you  know." 

"I  have  no  theory.  I  must  think  for  hours,  for  days, 
before  I  see  my  way  clear." 

"Clear  to  what,  sir." 

"To  telling  you  how,  when,  and  where  to  arrest  the 
murderer  of  Lady  Dyke." 

"  So  this  find  of  mine  is  of  great  importance  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly.  I  remember  its  contents  sufficiently, 
but  you  will  let  me  see  it  again  if  necessary  ?  " 

"With  pleasure,  sir.  And  that  reminds  me.  You 
never  returned  that  small  bit  of  iron  to  me.  You  recollect 
I  lent  it  to  you  some  time  since." 

"Perfectly.  Come  with  me.  I  will  model  it  in  wax 
and  give  it  to  you." 

"  All  right,  sir;  but  as  we  are  here  I  may  as  well  continue 
my  search.  I  may  drop  on  something  else  of  value." 

Bruce  resumed  his  seat,  and  did  not  stir  until  the  detec- 
tive had  completely  rummaged  the  cabinet.  The  reading 
of  that  queer  epistle  from  Corbett  to  "  Bertie "  —  from 

[127] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

the  real  Simon  Pure  to  the  sham  one  —  from  one  man  to 
his  double  —  had  stopped  him  at  the  very  threshold  of 
disclosure. 

The  document  impressed  him  as  being  genuine.  If  so, 
who  on  earth  was  Corbett,  and  why  had  Mensmore  taken 
his  name,  if  that  was  the  solution  of  the  tangle  ? 

Whatever  the  explanation,  he  would  not  jump  to  a 
conclusion.  The  web  had  closed  too  securely  round 
Mensmore  to  allow  of  escape.  Hence,  Bruce  could  bide 
his  time.  Another  week  might  solve  many  elements  in 
the  case  now  indistinct  and  nebulous.  He  would  wait. 

The  detective  finally  satisfied  himself  there  was  nothing 
else  in  the  cabinet.  He  approached  the  fireplace,  peered 
into  every  vase  on  the  over-mantel,  picked  with  his  pen- 
knife at  the  back  of  the  frame  to  feel  for  other  letters,  and 
in  doing  so  several  times  kicked  the  fender. 

The  barrister  vaguely  wondered  whether  the  man  of 
method  would  note  the  missing  portion  of  the  iron 
"dog." 

"Surely,"  he  thought,  "he  will  see  it  now,"  as  Mr. 
White  bent  to  examine  the  ashes,  and  actually  took  the 
poker  from  the  very  support  itself  in  order  to  rake  among 
the  cinders. 

The  other  even  scrutinized  the  fire-irons,  but  the  too 
obvious  fact  that,  so  to  speak,  stared  him  in  the  face, 
escaped  notice.  He  was  quite  wrapped  up  in  his  theory 
that  Lady  Dyke  had  been  killed  at  Putney,  and  not  in 
Sloane  Square. 

At  last  he  quitted  the  room,  and  walked  off  to  the 
small  apartments  at  the  end  of  the  main  corridor. 

Instantly  Bruce  sprang  forward,  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
intently  examined  the  iron  rest  with  a  strong  lens.  It  bore 
no  unusual  signs  in  the  locality  of  the  break.  Taking 

[128] 


No.  12  Raleigh  Mansions 

some  wax  from  his  pocket,  he  took  a  slight  impression  of 
the  fracture. 

When  Mr.  White  returned,  he  found  the  barrister  sitting 
in  his  chair,  still  smoking,  and  with  set  face  and  fixed  eyes. 

Soon  afterwards  they  quitted  the  flat,  carefully  leaving 
all  things  as  they  found  them.  They  said  little  on  their 
way  to  Victoria  Street,  for  Bruce  was  trying  to  explain 
Mensmore's  attitude  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  the  detective 
was  considering  the  best  use  to  which  he  could  put  that 
all-important  letter. 

Besides,  Mr.  White  attributed  his  companion's  silence 
to  annoyance.  Had  not  he,  White,  laid  hands  on  the 
only  direct  piece  of  evidence  yet  discovered  as  to  Corbett's 
identity,  and  this  in  defiance  of  Bruce's  spoken  philosophy  ? 
He  could  afford  to  be  generous  and  not  to  worry  his 
amateur  colleague  with  questions. 

Thus  they  reached  the  barrister's  chambers.  Bruce 
asked  the  other  to  sit  down  for  a  moment  while  he  obtained 
a  model  of  the  small  lump  of  iron.  He  took  it  into  his 
bedroom,  fitted  in  into  the  wax  impression  obtained  at 
Raleigh  Mansions,  and  noted  that  the  two  coincided 
perfectly. 

He  handed  the  bit  of  iron  to  White  without  comment. 

The  latter  said:  "It  had  better  remain  in  my  keeping 
now,  sir,  but  if  you  want  to  see  it  again,  of  course  I  will 
be  glad—" 

"  I  shall  never  want  it  again,"  said  Bruce,  and  his  voice 
was  harsh  and  cold,  for  he  had  seldom  experienced  such 
a  strain  as  the  last  hours  had  given  him.  "It  is  an  ac- 
cursed thing.  It  has  caused  one  death  already,  and  may 
cause  others." 

"I  sincerely  hope  it  will  cause  a  man  to  be  hanged," 
cried  the  detective,  "  for  this  affair  is  the  warmest  I  have 

[129] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

ever  tackled.  However,  I'll  get  him,  as  sure  as  his  name's 
Corbett,  if  he  has  forty  aliases  and  as  many  addresses." 

Smith  let  Mr.  White  out.  The  latter,  halting  for  a 
moment  at  the  door,  said  quietly,  "  Is  your  name  Corbett  ?  " 

"  No,  it  ain't,  any  more  than  yours  is  Black.     See  ?  " 

Each  man  thought  he  had  had  his  joke,  so  they  were 
better  friends  thenceforth,  but  Mr.  White  was  thoughtful 
as  he  passed  into  the  street. 

"This  is  a  funny  business,"  he  communed.  "There 
isn't  enough  evidence  against  Corbett  to  hang  a  cat,  yet 
I  think  he's  the  man.  And  Bruce  is  a  queer  chap.  Was 
he  cut  up  about  me  finding  the  letter,  or  has  he  got  some 
notion  in  his  head.  He's  as  close  as  an  oyster.  I  wonder 
if  he  did  dine  at  Hampstead  on  the  evening  of  the  murder, 
as  he  said  at  the  inquest  ?  I  must  inquire  into  it." 


[130] 


CHAPTER  XV 
MRS.  HILLMER  HESITATES 

"I  WONDER  if  I  shall  have  such  exciting  times  to-day 
as  I  had  yesterday,"  said  Bruce  to  himself,  as  he  unfolded 
his  Times  next  morning  at  breakfast. 

Affairs  had  so  jumbled  themselves  together  in  his  brain 
the  previous  evening  that  he  had  abandoned  all  effort  to 
elucidate  them.  He  retired  to  rest  earlier  than  usual,  to 
sleep  soundly,  save  for  a  vivid  dream  in  which  he  was 
being  tried  for  his  life,  the  chief  witnesses  against  him  being 
Mrs.  Hillmer,  Phyllis  Browne,  and  Jane  Harding,  the 
latter  varying  her  evidence  by  entertaining  the  Court  with 
a  song  and  dance. 

The  weather,  too,  had  improved.  It  was  clear,  frosty, 
and  sunlit  —  one  of  those  delightful  days  of  winter  that 
serve  as  cheerful  remembrances  during  periods  of  seem- 
ingly interminable  fog  overhead  and  slush  beneath. 

During  a  quiet  meal  he  read  the  news,  and,  with  the 
invaluable  morning  smoke,  settled  himself  cosily  into  an 
armchair  to  consider  procedure. 

In  the  first  place  he  carefully  weighed  those  utterances 
of  Mensmore  at  Monte  Carlo,  which  he  could  recall,  and 
which  seemed  by  the  light  of  later  knowledge,  to  bear 
upon  the  case. 

Mensmore  had  alluded  to  "family  troubles,"  to  "wor- 
ries," and  "anxieties,"  that  practically  drove  him  from 
England. 

[131] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Some  of  these,  no  doubt,  referred  to  the  Springbok 
speculation.  Others,  again,  might  have  meant  Mrs.  Hill- 
mer  or  some  other  presently  unknown  relative.  But  in 
Mensmore's  manner  there  was  nothing  that  savored  of  a 
greater  secrecy  than  the  natural  reticence  of  a  gentleman 
in  discussing  domestic  affairs  with  a  stranger. 

This  man  had  practically  been  snatched  from  death. 
At  such  a  moment  it  was  inconceivable  that  he  could  cloak 
the  remorse  of  a  murderer  by  the  simulation  of  more 
honorable  motives,  in  themselves  sufficiently  distressing 
to  cause  him  deliberately  to  choose  suicide  as  the  best  way 
of  ending  his  difficulties. 

The  policeman  had  summarized  the  testimony  against 
Corbett  as  insufficient  to  curtail  the  remarkable  powers 
of  endurance  of  a  cat.  But  to  Bruce  the  case  against 
Mensmore,  alias  Corbett,  stood  in  clearer  perspective. 
Now  that  he  calmly  reasoned  the  matter  he  felt  that  the 
balance  of  probabilities  swung  away  from  the  hypothesis 
that  Mensmore  was  the  actual  slayer  of  Lady  Dyke,  and 
towards  the  theory  that  he  was  in  some  way  bound  up 
with  her  death,  whether  knowingly  or  unknowingly  it  was 
at  present  impossible  to  say. 

The  new  terror  to  Bruce  was  Mr.  White. 

"Why,  if  that  animated  truncheon  knew  what  I  know 
of  this  business  he  would  arrest  Mensmore  forthwith. 
If  he  did,  what  would  result?  A  scandal,  a  thorough 
exposure,  possibly  the  ruin  of  Mensmore's  love-making  if 
he  be  an  innocent  man.  That  must  be  stopped.  But 
how,  without  forewarning  Mensmore  himself  ?  —  and  he 
may  be  guilty.  Chance  may  favor  White,  as  it  favored 
me,  in  disclosing  the  identity  of  the  missing  Corbett. 
And  what  of  the  real  Corbett?  What  on  earth  has  he 
got  to  do  with  it,  and  why  has  Mensmore  taken  his  name  ? 

[132] 


Mrs.  Hillmer  Hesitates 

If  ever  I  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  business  I  may  well 
congratulate  myself.  The  sole  result  of  all  my  labor  thus 
far  may  be  summed  up  in  a  sentence  —  I  have  not  yet 
come  face  to  face  with  the  man  whom  I  can  honestly 
suspect  as  Lady  Dyke's  murderer.  Not  much,  my  boy ! " 

Claude  uttered  the  last  sentence  aloud,  startling  Smith, 
who  was  clearing  the  table. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  cried  Smith. 

"Oh,  nothing.     I  was  only  expressing  an  opinion." 

"I  thought,  perhaps,  sir,  you  was  thinkin'  of  Mr. 
White." 

"What  of  him?" 

"  Your  remark,  sir,  hexactly  hexpresses  my  hopinion  of 
'im." 

Smith  was  not  a  badly  educated  man,  but  the  least 
excitement  produced  an  appalling  derangement  of  the 
letter  "h"  in  his  vocabulary. 

"Mr.  White  is  a  sharp  fellow  in  his  own  way,  Smith." 

"Maybe,  but  why  should  'e  come  pokin'  round  'ere 
pryin'  into  your  little  affairs-deecur  ?  " 

"My  what?" 

"  Sorry,  sir,  but  that's  what  a  French  maid  I  once  knew 
called  'em.  Flirtations,  sir.  Mashes." 

"Smith,  have  you  been  drinking?" 

"Me,  sir?" 

"Well,  explain  yourself.  I  never  flirted  with  a  woman 
in  my  life." 

"That's  what  I  told  'im,  sir.  'My  master's  a  regular 
saint,'  says  I,  '  a  sort  of  middle-aged  ankyrite.'  But  Mr. 
White  'e  wouldn't  'ave  it  at  no  price.  'Come  now, 
Smith,'  says  'e,  'your  guv'nor's  pretty  deep.  'E's  a  toff, 
'e  is,  an'  knows  lots  of  lydies  —  titled  lydies.'  *  Very  like/ 
says  I,  '  but  'e  doesn't  mash  'em.'  '  Then  what  price  that 

[133] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

lydy  who  called  for  'im  in  a  keb  afore  'e  went  away? 
An'  who's  'e  gone  to  Monte  Carlo  with?'  This  was 
durin'  your  absence,  sir." 

"Go  on,  Smith.     Anything  else?" 

"  Well,  sir,  that  rather  flung  me  out  of  my  stride,  as  the 
sayin'  is,  as  I  'ad  seen  the  lydy  in  question.  An'  Mr. 
White  'as  a  nasty  way  of  putting  you  on  your  oath,  so  to 
speak.  But  I  never  owned  up." 

Claude  laughed. 

"Excellent.  Mr.  White  has  a  keen  nose  for  false 
scents.  I  have  already  told  him  to  let  my  affairs  alone. 
He  means  no  harm." 

But  the  reference  to  a  "  lydy  in  a  keb  "  had  suggested  an 
immediate  plan  of  action  to  the  barrister.  He  would  call 
to  see  Mrs.  Hillmer.  He  wrote  a  note  asking  her  if  he 
might  come  to  tea  that  afternoon,  and  sent  it  by  a  boy 
messenger. 

In  return  he  received  this  answer. 

"Mrs.  Hillmer  will  be  at  home  at  four  o'clock  if  Mr. 
Bruce  cares  to  call  then." 

"Whew!"  he  whistled.  "What's  in  the  wind  there? 
This  is  an  uncommonly  stiff  invitation.  That  rascal 
White  has  upset  her,  I'll  be  bound.  I  must  choke  him 
off  somehow.  Suppose  he  were  to  find  that  damaged 
bracket!  He  would  have  Mensmore  under  trial  at  the 
Old  Bailey  in  double-quick  time.  After  I  leave  Mrs. 
Hillmer  I  must  visit  No.  12  again,  and  carry  off  that  pair 
of  brackets  before  White  discovers  them,  as  he  will  haunt 
the  place  in  future." 

Bruce  had  a  set  of  skeleton  keys  in  his  possession. 

They  were  in  his  pocket  when  he  approached  Raleigh 
Mansions  at  the  appointed  hour. 

The  same  trim  majd  opened  the  door  for  him  and 

[134] 


Mrs.  Hillmer  Hesitates 

ushered  him  into  the  drawing-room.  On  the  occasion  of 
his  first  visit  he  was  taken  to  the  dining-room.  It  was  a 
small  matter,  but  Bruce  paid  heed  to  such. 

Mrs.  Hillmer  appeared,  very  stately  and  undemonstra- 
tive. She  greeted  him  coldly,  seated  herself  at  a  distance, 
and  said,  in  a  cold,  well-controlled  voice: 

"I  did  not  expect  the  honor  of  another  visit  from  you, 
Mr.  Bruce." 

"Why  not?" 

There  was  a  fight  brewing,  and  he  would  let  the  enemy 
open  fire.  The  glitter  in  her  eyes  showed  that  the  batteries 
were  ready  to  be  unmasked.  He  was  not  mistaken. 

"  Why  not  ?  Because  I  believed  you  to  be  a  gentleman. 
Once  you  had  stooped  to  sending  your  myrmidons  to 
pester  me  I  imagined  that  you  would  keep  yourself  in  the 
background." 

There  was  an  indignant  ring  in  her  words  as  she  con- 
cluded. When  a  woman  is  angry  her  own  speech  acts  as 
a  trumpet-call  and  fires  her  blood.  Mrs.  Hillmer  began, 
as  she  intended,  in  icy  disdain.  She  ended  in  tremulous 
anger. 

"  You  allude  to  Mr.  White  ?  "  said  the  barrister,  looking 
steadily  at  her. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  man.  Some  hireling  from  Scotland 
Yard.  How  could  you  so  meanly  induce  my  confidence 
at  our  first  meeting  ?  I  have  never  been  so  deceived  in  a 
man  in  my  life,  and  I  have  had  a  surfeit  of  bitter  expe- 
rience already." 

"Brother  and  sister  are  alike.  They  have  led  queer 
lives,"  mused  Bruce.  Aloud  he  said: 

"Your  experience,  Mrs.  Hillmer,  should  at  least  lead 
you  not  to  condemn  any  one  unheard.  May  I  explain 

[135] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

that  which  is  to  you  incomprehensible  at  this  moment  ?  — 
justly  so,  I  admit." 

"Explanations!  I  am  a  child  in  the  hands  of  such  as 
you.  How  can  I  hope  to  fathom  your  real  intent  ?  Pre- 
sumably, if  I  accept  your  apologies  now,  it  will  be  a  prelude 
to  further  visits  by  impudent  police  officers." 

"I  am  not  here  to  apologize,  Mrs.  Hillmer." 

"What  then,  pray?" 

"To  plead  with  you.  For  Heaven's  sake  do  not  dis- 
trust me.  It  may  ruin  those  whom  you  hold  dear.  Listen 
to  me  first,  and  try  to  believe  me  afterwards." 

He  was  so  thoroughly  in  earnest,  so  impressive  in  man- 
ner, that  she  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  him.  In  her 
despair,  she  adopted  a  woman's  chief  resource  —  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

But  he  anticipated  her. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Hillmer,"  he  cried,  "let  us  act  like  sensible 
people.  Compose  yourself,  order  in  some  tea,  and  after 
an  interlude  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  Candor  is  an 
indispensable  element  of  confidence." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  rose,  made  an  effort  to  choke  back  her 
agitation,  went  out,  and  called  to  the  maid  for  tea.  She 
returned  in  a  few  moments.  When  they  were  alone  Bruce 
said,  with  a  smile: 

"A  little  poudre  de  ris  is  an  excellent  corrective  for 
signs  of  grief." 

The  lady  blushed,  and  there  was  a  perceptible  return 
to  her  former  pleasant  manner. 

"You  are  incorrigible,  I  fear,"  she  cried. 

"  Not  a  bit.  Impressionable,  rather.  Now,  I  am  going 
to  startle  you  considerably,  so  be  prepared.  And  do  not 
jump  at  conclusions.  Though  startling,  my  news  is  not 
alarming.  All  may  yet  end  well." 

[136] 


Mrs.  Hillmer  Hesitates 

Mrs.  Hillmer  was  manifestly  anxious,  but  she  promised 
to  try  to  understand  him  fully  before  she  formed  any 
judgment. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  can  clear  the  air  a  good  deal  by  a 
simple  statement.  Mr.  White  is  no  agent  of  mine,  and  I 
have  seen  your  brother,  Albert  Mensmore,  at  Monte  Carlo." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise.  "  You  have 
seen  Bertie?" 

"Yes;  your  brother,  is  he  not?" 

"  My  half-brother,  to  be  exact.  My  father  was  married 
twice.  I  —  I  am  the  elder  of  the  two  by  four  years." 

"  Apart  from  the  compliment,  you  do  not  look  it.  But 
what  you  say  explains  the  total  absence  of  likeness  between 
you." 

"  Possibly.  People  said  we  each  resembled  our  mother. 
And  Bertie,  you  know,  has  led  a  somewhat  adventurous 
career.  He  roughed  it  a  good  deal  in  America.  But 
what  has  all  this  got  to  do  with  detectives,  and  recent 
inquiries,  and  that  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"Much.  The  last  time  we  met  I  told  you  that  your 
brother  was  mixed  up  in  some  little  affair  with  a  lady." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  laughed,  a  trifle  constrainedly.  "  If  you 
knew  Bertie  as  well  as  I  do,  you  would  not  harbor  sus- 
picions concerning  him.  He  never  had  a  love  affair  in 
his  life.  Indeed,  he  is  something  of  a  woman-hater." 

"  No  doubt  he  was.  But  he  has  changed  his  opinions. 
He  is  in  love,  and  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  very 
charming  girl.  Thus  far,  his  beliefs  and  his  good  fortune 
have  pulled  against  each  other." 

"  Bertie  engaged  to  be  married !  Good  gracious !  Who 
is  she?  And  how  can  he  support  a  wife?  He  is  poor, 
and  in  debt,  and  he  won't  even  let  me  help  him." 

"I  have  stated  the  facts,  nevertheless.    The  lady  is  a 

[137] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

daughter  of  Sir  William  Browne,  and  they  are  now 
yachting  with  a  large  party  in  the  Mediterranean." 

"  Are  her  people  against  the  match  ?  Is  that  why  this 
Scotland  Yard  man  —  ?  " 

"No.  Mensmore  is  on  board  Sir  William's  yacht. 
But  there  is  another  lady,  missing  from  her  home  for 
nearly  three  months,  who  is  believed  to  be  dead  —  mur- 
dered, the  police  say  —  and  with  whom  your  brother  was 
in  some  indefinable  way  associated." 

"Do  they  dare  to  say  that  Bertie  killed  her?"  Mrs. 
Hillmer's  color  rose  and  her  eyes  flashed  fire  again. 

"  They  say  nothing.  They  are  simply  doing  their  duty 
in  trying  to  discover  the  truth.  And  you  may  take  it 
from  me,  as  an  undoubted  fact,  that  the  last  place  this 
lady  visited  before  her  death  was  one  of  the  flats  in  these 
mansions.  All  present  indications  point  to  your  brother's 
residence  as  being  that  place.  Now,  I  pray  you,  be  calm, 
and  try  to  help  me,  for  I  have  acted  in  this  matter  as  your 
friend  and  as  your  brother's  friend.  At  this  very  moment 
I  am  concealing  his  identity  and  his  whereabouts  from  the 
police,  who  are  searching  for  him  under  the  assumed  name 
of  Corbett.  If  he  is  guilty  of  this  crime,  then  I  must  hand 
him  over  to  justice,  for  the  murdered  woman  was  a  dear 
and  good  friend  of  mine.  If  he  is  innocent,  as,  indeed,  I 
believe  him  to  be,  I  will  strive  to  help  him  and  save  his 
good  name  from  the  tarnish  of  being  arrested  on  such  an 
odious  charge." 

During  this  recital  Mrs.  Hillmer  became  deathly  pale. 
Her  agitation  was  the  greater  inasmuch  as  she  forcibly 
controlled  herself.  But  she  could  not  remain  seated. 
She  sprang  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  in  the  vain 
effort  to  seek  inspiration  from  the  gathering  gloom  of  the 
street.  Then  she  turned,  and  spoke  very  slowly : 

[138] 


Mrs.  Hillmer  Hesitates 

"  I  think  I  understand.  I  must  have  faith  in  you,  Mr. 
Bruce.  Who  —  was  —  the  lady  ? " 

The  barrister  thought  deeply  before  replying.  He  had 
previously  decided  upon  this  supreme  step,  but  he  hesi- 
tated now  that  it  was  imminent.  There  was  no  help 
for  it. 

"Her  name,"  said  he,  "is  one  which  is  well  known  to 
the  world.  Lady  Dyke,  wife  of  Sir  Charles  Dyke,  is 
missing  from  her  home  since  the  evening  of  November  6 
last.  She  met  with  a  violent  death  that  night,  and  I  — 
not  the  police  —  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  she  was 
killed  in  your  brother's  residence." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  flung  herself  on  a  lounge,  buried  her  white 
face  in  her  hands  and  moaned,  in  a  perfect  agony  of 
terror : 

"Oh,  my  God!    What  shall  I  do ?    What  shall  I  do ?" 

This  outburst  astounded  Bruce.  He  did  not  know  what 
to  make  of  it.  His  intelligence  had  certainly  taken  his 
hearer  by  surprise.  What  interpretation  was  he  to  place 
upon  her  words  and  her  unrestrained  actions  ? 

"Now,  Mrs.  Hillmer,"  he  began;  but  she  broke  in 
vehemently,  running  to  him  and  clutching  him  by  the  arm  : 

"He  is  innocent,  Mr.  Bruce.  He  must  be  innocent. 
He  could  not  lift  his  finger  to  any  woman.  You  must 
save  him  —  do  you  hear  ?  —  save  him,  or  you  will  have 
his  blood  on  your  soul.  It  was  true,  then,  that  you  came 
here  to  hunt  for  him.  Save  him,  if  you  hope  for  mercy 
yourself  when  you  are  dying." 

In  her  passion  she  shook  him  violently,  and  for  an 
instant  they  looked  intently  at  each  other  —  the  woman 
tensely  piteous,  entreating;  the  man  amazed  and  ques- 
tioning. 

"  Do  you  not  see,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  your  vehemence 

[139] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

reveals  your  thoughts?  For  anything  you  know  to  the 
contrary,  your  brother  may  have  committed  the  crime. 
Nay,  it  requires  but  slight  knowledge  of  human  nature  to 
read  your  suspicions  lest  it  be  true.  At  this  moment  I 
am  convinced  that  you  are,  in  your  heart,  less  sceptical 
than  I  of  his  guilt." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  flung  herself  again  upon  the  lounge,  silent, 
tearful,  torn  with  violent  emotion,  which  she  vainly  tried 
to  suppress. 

He  tried  to  reason  with  her. 

"It  will,  perhaps,  serve  to  clear  up  a  mystery  that 
deepens  each  moment  if  you  place  your  trust  in  me,"  he 
said.  "  Tell  me  fully  and  openly  any  cause  you  may  have 
for  fearing  that  your  brother  may  be  implicated  in  this 
terrible  business.  I  ask  you  to  adopt  this  course  in  all 
faith.  I  have  seen  your  brother  under  most  trying  cir- 
cumstances; I  have  been  with  him  at  an  hour  when  it 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  conceal  his  burden  if  the 
weight  of  Lady  Dyke's  death  lay  upon  him.  Yet  I  think 
him  innocent.  I  think  that  chance  has  contributed  to 
gather  evidence  against  him.  If  I  can  learn  even  a  por- 
tion of  the  truth  it  will  enable  me  to  quickly  dispel  the 
barrier  of  uncertainty  that  now  hinders  progress." 

"  What  is  it  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hillmer's  voice  was  hollow  and  broken.  The 
barrister  was  shocked  at  the  effect  of  his  revelation,  but  he 
was  forced  to  go  on  with  the  disagreeable  task  he  had 
undertaken. 

"Do  you  mean,"  he  asked,  "that  you  will  answer  my 
questions  ?  " 

"So  far  as  I  can." 

"Would  it  not  be  better  to  tell  me  in  your  own  words 
what  you  have  to  say  ?  " 

[140] 


Mrs.  Hillmer  Hesitates 

Mrs.  Hillmer  looked  up,  and  the  agony  in  her  face 
filled  him  with  keen  pity. 

"Oh,  Heaven  help  me  to  do  what  is  right!"  she  cried. 

"  Your  prayer  will  surely  be  answered.  I  am  certain  of 
that.  A  great  wrong  has  been  committed  by  some  one, 
and  the  innocent  must  not  suffer  to  shield  the  guilty." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  bowed  her  head  and  did  not  utter  a  word 
for  some  minutes.  She  appeared  to  be  reasoning  out  some 
plan  of  action  in  a  dazed  fashion.  When  decision  came 
she  said  in  low  tones: 

"You  must  leave  me  now,  Mr.  Bruce.  I  must  have 
time.  When  I  am  ready  I  shall  send  for  you." 

He  knew  instinctively  that  it  was  hopeless  to  plead  with 
her.  Frivolous,  volatile  women  of  her  stamp  often  betray 
unusual  strength  of  character  in  a  supreme  crisis. 

"You  are  adopting  an  unwise  course,"  he  said  sadly. 

"Maybe.  But  I  must  be  alone.  I  am  not  deceiving 
you.  When  I  have  determined  something  which  is  not 
now  clear  to  me,  I  will  send  for  you.  It  may  be  that  I 
shall  speak.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  be  silent.  ,In  either 
case  I  only  can  judge  —  and  suffer." 

"Tell  me  one  thing  at  least,  Mrs.  Hillmer,  before  we 
part.  Did  you  know  of  Lady  Dyke's  death  before  to-day  ?  " 

She  came  to  him  and  looked  him  straight  in  the  face, 
and  said:  "I  did  not.  On  my  soul,  I  did  not." 

Then  he  passed  into  the  hall;  and  even  the  shock  of 
this  painful  interview  did  not  prevent  him  from  noting 
the  flitting  of  a  shadow  past  a  distant  doorway,  as  some 
one  hurried  into  the  interior  of  a  room. 

In  their  excitement  they  forgot  that  their  voices  might 
attract  attention,  and  ladies'  maids  are  proverbially 
inquisitive. 

\ 

[141] 


CHAPTER  XVI 
FOXEY 

THE  keen,  cold  air  of  the  streets  soon  restored  the  man 
to  his  habitual  calm.  He  felt  that  a  quiet  stroll  would  do 
him  good. 

As  he  walked  he  pondered,  and  the  more  critically  he 
examined  Mrs.  Hillmer's  change  of  attitude  the  less  he 
understood  it. 

"For  some  ridiculous  reason,"  he  communed,  "the 
woman  believes  her  brother  guilty.  Now  I  shall  have 
endless  trouble  at  getting  at  the  truth.  She  will  not  be 
candid.  She  will  only  tell  me  that  which  she  thinks  will 
help  him,  and  conceal  that  which  she  considers  damaging. 
That  is  a  woman's  way,  all  the  world  over.  And  a  des- 
perately annoying  way  it  is.  Perhaps  I  was  to  blame  in 
springing  this  business  too  hastily  upon  her.  But  there! 
I  like  Mrs.  Hillmer,  and  I  hate  using  her  as  one  juggles 
with  a  self-conceited  witness.  In  future  I  shall  trouble 
her  no  more." 

A  casual  glance  into  the  interior  of  Sloane  Square 
Station  gave  him  a  glimpse  of  the  barrier,  and  he  recog- 
nized the  collector  who  had  taken  Lady  Dyke's  ticket  on 
that  fatal  night  when  she  quitted  the  Richmond  train. 

Rather  as  a  relief  than  for  other  cause  he  entered  into 
conversation  with  the  official. 

"  Do  you  remember  me  ?  "  he  said. 

[142] 


Foxey 

"Can't  say  as  I  do,  sir."  The  man  examined  his 
questioner  with  quick  suspicion.  The  forgotten  "  season  " 
dodge  would  not  work  with  him. 

"  Maybe  you  remember  these  ?  "  said  Bruce,  producing 
his  cigar-case. 

"  Now,  wot's  the  gyme  ?  "  said  the  collector  to  himself. 
But  he  smiled,  and  answered :  "  Do  you  mean  by  the  look 
of  'em,  sir?" 

"Good!"  laughed  Claude.  "Take  three  or  four  home 
with  you.  Meanwhile  I  am  sure  you  remember  me  coming 
to  see  you  last  November  concerning  a  lady  who  alighted 
here  from  Victoria  one  foggy  evening  and  handed  you  a 
ticket  to  Richmond  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  do,  sir.  And  the  cigars  are  all  right. 
There  was  a  lot  of  fuss  about  that  lydy.  Did  she  ever 
turn  up  ?  " 

"Not  exactly.  That  is  to  say,  she  died  shortly  after 
you  saw  her." 

"No!  Well,  of  all  the  rummy  goes!  She  was  a  fine- 
looking  woman,  too,  as  well  as  I  rec'llect.  Looked  fit  for 
another  fifty  year.  Wot  'appened  to  'er. " 

"I  don't  know.     I  wish  I  did." 

"  An'  'ave  you  been  on  the  'unt  ever  since,  guv'nor  ? " 

"Yes,  ever  since." 

"  She's  dead,  you  s'y?" 

"Yes." 

"  But  'ow'd  you  know  she's  dead,  if  you  'ain't  seen  'er 
since  ?  " 

"I  have  seen  her.     I  saw  her  dead  body  at  Putney." 

"  At  Putney !    Well,  I'm  blowed ! " 

A  roar  from  beneath,  the  slamming  of  many  doors,  and 
the  quick  rush  of  a  crowd  up  the  steps,  announced  the 
arrival  of  a  train.  "Pardon,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "this  is 

[143] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

the  5.41  Mansion  House.     But  don't  go  aw'y.     There's 
somethin'  —  Tickets,  if  you  please." 

In  a  minute  the  collector  had  ended  his  task.  While 
sorting  his  bundles  of  pasteboards  he  said: 

"Nobody  ever  telled  me  that  before.  An'  you  ain't 
the  only  one  on  'er  track.  Are  you  in  the  police  ?  " 

"No." 

"I  thought  not.  But  some  other  chaps  who  kem  'ere 
was.  None  of  'em  ever  said  the  lydy  was  dead." 

"Why;  what  matter?" 

"Oh,  nothin',  but  two  'eads  is  better'n  one,  if  they're 
only  sheep's  'eads." 

"  Undoubtedly.  The  rule  is  all  the  more  reliable  when 
one  of  them  belongs  to  a  shrewd  chap  like  you." 

The  collector  grinned.  He  understood  that  he  was 
being  flattered  for  a  purpose,  yet  he  liked  it. 

"  That's  one  w'y  of  lookin'  at  it,"  he  said,  "  but  if  this 
affair's  pertickler,  why,  all  I  can  s'y  is  it's  worth  somethin' 
to  somebody." 

"Certainly.  Here's  a  sovereign  for  a  start.  If  you 
can  tell  me  anything  really  worth  knowing  I  will  add  four 
more  to  it." 

"Now,  that's  talkin'.  I'm  off  duty  at  eight  o'clock, 
an'  I  can't  'ave  a  chat  now  because  I  expect  the  inspector 
any  minute." 

"Suppose  you  call  and  see  me  in  Victoria  Street  at 
nine?" 

"  Right  you  are,  sir." 

Bruce  gave  the  man  his  address  and  recrossed  the 
square.  Few  people  were  abroad,  so  he  walked  straight 
to  the  first  door  of  Raleigh  Mansions  and  made  his  way 
to  the  fourth  floor. 

Had  he  been  a  moment  later  he  must  have  seen  Mrs. 

[144] 


Foxey 

Hillmer,  closely  wrapped  up,  leave  her  residence  unat- 
tended. Her  carriage  was  not  in  waiting.  She  walked 
to  the  cabstand  in  the  square  and  called  a  hansom,  driving 
back  up  Sloane  Street. 

Her  actions  indicated  a  desire  to  be  unobserved  even  by 
her  servants,  as  in  the  usual  course  of  events  the  housemaid 
would  have  brought  a  cab  to  the  door. 

But  the  barrister,  steadily  climbing  up  the  stairs,  could 
not  guess  what  was  happening  in  the  street.  He  soon 
opened  Mensmore's  door,  and  noted,  as  an  idle  fact,  that 
the  expected  gust  of  cold  air  was  absent. 

There  was  no  light  on  this  landing,  so  he  was  in  pitch 
darkness  once  he  had  passed  the  doorway.  There  was 
no  need  to  strike  a  match,  however,  as  he  remembered  the 
exact  position  of  the  electric  switchboard  —  on  the  left 
beyond  the  dining-room  door. 

He  stepped  cautiously  forward,  and  stretched  forth  his 
hand  to  grope  for  the  lever.  With  a  quick  rush,  some 
two  or  three  assailants  flung  themselves  upon  him,  and 
after  a  fierce,  gasping  struggle  —  for  Bruce  was  a  strong 
man  —  he  was  borne  to  the  floor  face  downwards,  with 
one  arm  beneath  him  and  the  other  pinioned  behind  his 
back. 

"Look  sharp,  Jim,"  shouted  a  breathless  voice.  "Turn 
on  the  light  and  close  the  door.  We've  got  him  safe 
enough." 

They  had.  Two  large  hands  were  clutched  round  his 
neck,  a  knee  was  firmly  embedded  in  the  small  of  his 
back,  another  hand  gripped  his  left  wrist  like  a  vice,  while 
some  one  sat  on  his  legs. 

He  could  not  have  been  collared  more  effectually  by  a 
Rugby  International  team. 

The  third  man  found  the  electric  light  and  turned  it  on. 

[145] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Now,  get  up,"  said  some  one,  "  and  don't  give  us  any 
more  trouble.  It's  no  use." 

The  barrister,  who  had  had  his  wind  knocked  out  of 
him,  rose  to  his  knees.  Then,  as  the  light  fell  upon  the 
horrified  face  of  Mr.  White,  he  vainly  essayed  to  keep  up 
the  pretence  of  indignation.  Once  fairly  on  his  feet,  he 
nearly  collapsed  with  laughter.  He  leaned  against  the 
wall,  and,  as  his  breath  came  again,  he  laughed  until  his 
sides  ached. 

Meanwhile  the  detective  was  crimson  with  rage  and 
annoyance.  His  two  assistants  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  the  affair. 

"What's  wrong,  Jim?"  said  one  at  last.  "Isn't  this 
Corbett?" 

"  No,  of  course  it's  not,"  was  his  angry  growl. 

"Then  who  the is  it?" 

"Oh,  ask  me  another!  How  on  earth  could  I  guess, 
Mr.  Bruce,  that  you'd  come  letting  yourself  in  here  with 
a  latchkey?" 

Claude  was  still  holding  his  sore  ribs  and  could  not 
answer;  but  the  policeman  who  had  questioned  White 
caught  the  name.  He  recognized  it,  and  grinned  at  his 
companion. 

"What  did  you  want  here,  anyhow?"  snarled  the  in- 
furiated detective,  as  he  realized  that  his  great  coup  would 
be  retailed  with  embellishments  through  every  police 
station  in  the  metropolis. 

"I  w-wanted  you  to  ar-r-rest  me,  W- White,"  roared 
Claude.  "I  s-said  you  would,  and  you  have." 

"  Confound  it,  how  could  you  know  I  was  here  ?  " 

"You  were  sure  to  wait  here  for  a  man  who  probably 
will  not  return  for  months." 

"  Was  I,  indeed  ?    Well,  you  have  yourself  to  blame  if 

[146] 


Foxey 

you  are  hurt.  I  hope  my  mates  did  not  treat  you  too 
badly?" 

"  What  ?  "  cried  the  one  who  had  not  yet  spoken.  "  He 
gave  me  such  a  punch  on  the  bread-basket  that  I've  only 
just  recovered  my  speech." 

"I  think  we're  about  quits,"  said  the  other,  surveying 
a  torn  waistcoat  and  broken  watch-chain. 

"I  shall  be  black  and  blue  all  over  to-morrow,"  said 
Bruce;  "but  if  you  are  satisfied  I  am.  Come,  Mr.  White, 
bring  your  friends  and  we  will  open  a  bottle  of  wine.  We 
all  want  it.  Corbett  won't  be  here  to-night.  Just  now 
he  is  in  Wyoming." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"By  intuition.     I  am  seldom  mistaken." 

"But  why  didn't  you  call  out  just  now  when  you  came 
in?" 

"I  hadn't  a  chance.  You  were  on  me  like  a  thousand 
of  bricks.  I  must  confess  that  if  Corbett  were  in  my 
shoes  he  would  be  a  doomed  man." 

White  didn't  know  whether  to  believe  Bruce  or  not. 
He  was  genuinely  angry  at  the  incident,  but  the  barrister 
did  not  want  to  convert  him  into  an  enemy,  and  he  vaguely 
felt  that  a  catastrophe  was  imminent,  and  a  false  move  by 
the  police  might  do  irretrievable  mischief. 

"Well,  inspector,"  he  said,  "I  must  confess  that  this 
time  you  have  got  the  better  of  me.  I  did  not  know  you 
were  here.  I  looked  in  for  the  purpose  of  quietly  studying 
the  ground,  as  it  were,  and  I  was  never  more  taken  by 
surprise  in  my  life.  Moreover,  your  plan  was  a  very 
clever  one,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  Corbett  might  return 
at  any  moment.'* 

The  detective  became  more  amiable  at  this  praise  from 

[147] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

the  famous  amateur,  for  Brace's  achievements  were  well 
known  to  his  two  colleagues. 

"I  suppose  you  wondered  what  had  happened,"  he  said 
with  a  smile. 

"I  thought  my  last  hour  had  come.  I  am  only  sorry 
that  Corbett  himself  did  not  have  the  experience." 

"  Do  you  really  believe  he  is  in  the  States,  sir  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Then  he  must  have  returned  there  since  he  wrote  that 
letter." 

"That  is  the  only  solution  of  the  difficulty." 

"Hum.     It's  a  pity." 

"Why?" 

"  I  would  sooner  prefer  to  arrest  him  on  this  side.  To 
get  him  by  extradition  is  a  slow  affair,  and  probably  means 
a  trip  across  the  Atlantic." 

Good-humor  being  now  restored,  the  party  quitted  the 
flat  and  adjourned  to  a  neighboring  hotel,  where  the 
barrister  started  White  on  the  full,  true,  and  particular 
account  of  his  pursuit  and  capture  of  the  Winchmore 
Hill  burglars,  an  exploit  which  was  the  pride  of  the 
detective's  life. 

At  the  end  of  a  bottle  of  champagne  and  a  cigar  they  all 
parted  excellent  friends,  but  Bruce  did  not  attempt  to 
revisit  Raleigh  Mansions  that  night. 

Instead,  he  partook  of  a  quiet  meal  at  a  restaurant,  and 
hurried  to  his  chambers  to  await  the  advent  of  the  ticket- 
collector. 

Punctual  to  the  hour,  this  new  witness  arrived,  and  was 
admitted  by  Smith  in  obedience  with  previous  instruc- 
tions. The  man  was  somewhat  awed  by  the  surroundings 
and  the  appearance  of  a  servant  in  livery,  but  Bruce 
quickly  put  him  at  his  ease. 

[148] 


Foxey 

"  Come,  sit  near  the  fire.  Do  you  drink  whisky  and 
soda?  That  box  contains  your  favorite  cigars.  Now, 
tell  me  all  you  know  about  this  business." 

"I  can't  s'y  as  I  know  anythink  about  it,  sir,  but  by 
puttin'  two  and  two  together  it  makes  four  sometimes  — 
not  always." 

"Quite  right.  You're  a  philosopher.  Let  me  hear 
the  two  two's.  We  will  see  about  the  addition  after- 
wards." 

"  Well,  sir,  this  yer  lydy  was  a-missin'  early  in  Novem- 
ber. She  tykes  a  ticket  at  Victoria  Station  on  the  District 
for  Richmond;  she  gives  it  up  to  me  at  Sloane  Square, 
arsks  a  newsboy  the  w'y  to  Raleigh  Mansions,  for  'e  tell'd 
me  so  after  you'd  bin  to  see  me,  an'  from  what  you  s'y, 
'as  bin  swallered  up  ever  since." 

"  The  Lord  Chief  couldn't  state  the  case  more  simply." 

"That's  the  first  two.  Now,  for  the  second  two,  an* 
you  won't  forgit  as  I  knew  nothink  about  the  lydy  bein' 
dead,  or  I  should  'ave  opened  my  mouth  long  afore  this." 

"Go  on.     No  one  can  blame  you." 

"  There's  an  old  chap  —  Foxey  they  calls  'im,  but  I 
don't  know  'is  right  nyme  —  who  drives  a  four-wheeler 
around  Chelsea,  an'  'e  'ad  tyken  a  fare  from  the  Square 
to  the  City.  It  might  be  four  o'clock  or  it  might  be  five, 
but  'e  was  on  'is  w'y  back  from  Cornhill  when  a  gent,  a 
tall,  good-looking  gent,  a  youngish,  military  chap,  'ails 
'im  and  says : '  Cabby,  drive  me  to  Sloane  Square.  There's 
no  'urry,  but  tyke  care,  because  it's  foggy.'  Old  Foxey 
nearly  jumped  out  of  'is  skin  at  this  bit  of  good  luck. 
'E  was  pretty  full  then,  for  'e's  a  regular  beer-barrel,  'e  is, 
but  'e  made  up  'is  mind  to  'ave  a  fair  old  skinful  that 
night.  Well,  Foxey  drives  'im  all  right  to  the  Square. 
The  gent  gives  'im  five  bob  and  says:  'Wite  'ere  for  me, 

[149] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

cabby.  You  can  drive  me  'ome  in  about  an  hour's  time.' 
This  was  at  5.30.  Foxey  drew  up  near  the  stytion,  tells 
me  all  about  it,  an'  stan's  me  two  beers,  'e  was  that  pleased 
with  'isself.  'E  goes  to  give  'is  'oss  the  nose-bag,  in 
comes  the  Richmond  train,  and  out  pops  the  lydy  with  the 
Richmond  ticket.  D'ye  follow  me  ?  " 

"Every  word." 

"  An'  you  see  now  'ow  it  is  I  can  fix  the  d'y  ? " 

"Perfectly." 

"Well,  I  sees  no  more  of  Foxey.  I  missed  'im  about 
the  Square,  so  one  d'y  I  axes  at  the  rank,  — '  Where's 
Foxey  ? '  An'  where  d'ye  think  'e  was  ?  " 

"I  can  not  tell." 

"In  quod." 

"In  jail.     Why?" 

"  That's  hit.  That's  number  two  of  the  twos.  Pardon 
me,  but  I'm  gettin'  a  bit  mixed.  Well,  it  seems  that  that 
very  night,  comin'  back  from  Putney  as  drunk  as  a  lord, 
old  Foxey  runs  over  a  barrer.  'E  an'  the  coster  'as  a 
fight.  The  police  come,  and  Foxey  dots  one  bobby  in 
the  blinkers  and  another  on  the  boko.  You  wouldn't 
think  it  was  in  'im.  'E  must  'ave  bin  paralytic." 

"So  he  was  locked  up?" 

"  Locked  up !  'E  was  dragged  there  by  the  'eels.  Next 
mornin'  'e  comes  before  the  beak.  'We  was  all  drunk 
together,  your  wurshup,'  'e  says.  'I  took  a  fare  from  the 
City  to  Sloane  Square,  an'  'e  left  me  for  more'n  an  hour. 
'E  comes  back  excited  like  —  bin  boozin'  'ard,  I  suppose 
—  brings  my  keb  up  to  a  'ouse,  carries  in  a  lydy  who  was 
that  'toxicated  she  couldn't  stand,  an'  tells  me  to  drive  to 
Putney.  We  gits  there,  an'  I  says  "you've  nearly  killed 
my  'oss,  guv'nor."  With  that  'e  tips  me  a  fiver — a  five- 
pun  note,  your  wurshup.'  'What  has  that  got  to  do  with 

[150] 


Foxey 

the  charge  ? '  says  the  beak.  '  Wot  ? '  says  Foxey.  '  If  a 
chap  give  you  a  fiver  for  drivin'  'im  to  Putney  wouldn't 
you  get  drunk  ? '  With  that  the  magistrate  gives  'im  three 
months  for  assaulting  the  police,  and  fines  'im  the  balance 
*  of  the  fiver  for  bein'  drunk  in  charge  of  a  'oss  and  keb." 

The  ticket  collector  took  a  long  drink  after  this  recital. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  follow  Foxey's  example,"  said 
Bruce,  rising. 

"  'Ow  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"Because  I  am  going  to  keep  my  word.  Here  are  the 
four  sovereigns  I  owe  you.  In  your  case  your  two  and 
two  have  made  five." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  You're  a  brick.  No  fear  of  me 
meltin'  this  little  lot.  The  missus  will  be  on  'em  like  a 
bird  w'en  I  tell  her."  And  the  man  spat  upon  the  coins 
with  evident  relish  as  he  handled  them. 

"  One  word  more,"  said  Bruce.  "  Where  was  this  man 
tried?" 

"At  the  West  London  Police  Court." 

"  You  can  get  me  his  real  name  and  post  it  to  me  ? " 

"Sure,  sir.     Anyway,  I'll  try." 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you." 

"An5  'as  my  yarn  bin  of  any  use  to  you,  sir?" 

"The  greatest.  It  has  solved  a  puzzle.  However,  I 
will  see  you  again.  Good-bye.  Don't  forget  to  write." 

"Cornhill  is  the  direct  line  from  Leadenhall  Street," 
mused  Claude,  when  he  was  alone.  "  Any  one  coming  to 
Sloane  Square  from  Dodge  &  Co.'s  office  would  pass 
through  it.  Upon  my  word,  things  look  very  black  against 
Mensmore,  Yet  I  cannot  believe  it." 


[151] 


CHAPTER  XVII 
A  POSSIBLE  EXPLANATION 

BRUCE  now  had  several  lines  of  inquiry  open. 

Apart  from  the  main  and  vital  question  as  to  the  exact 
method  of  Lady  Dyke's  death,  and  the  identity  of  the 
person  responsible  for  it,  a  number  of  important  matters 
required  attention. 

Why  had  Jane  Harding  quitted  her  situation  so 
suddenly  ? 

Whence  did  she  obtain  the  money  that  enabled  her  to 
blossom  forth  as  Marie  le  Marchant? 

Who  was  Sydney  H.  Corbett  ? 

Why  did  Mensmore  adopt  a  false  name;  and,  in  any 
case,  why  adopt  the  name  of  Corbett  ? 

Why  did  Mrs.  Hillmer  exhibit  such  sudden  terror  lest 
her  brother  might  be  guilty? 

Whom  did  Mrs.  Hillmer  marry?  Was  her  husband 
alive  or  dead? 

Was  the  man  who  conveyed  Lady  Dyke's  body  from 
Raleigh  Mansions  to  Putney  responsible  also  for  her 
death  ? 

Finally,  why  did  he  select  that  particular  portion  of  the 
Thames  banks  for  the  bestowal  of  his  terrible  burden  ? 

Many  other  minor  features  suggested  themselves  for 
careful  attention,  but  the  barrister  knew  that  if  he  eluci- 
dated some  of  the  major  questions  the  rest  would  answer 
themselves. 

[152] 


A  Possible  Explanation 

The  last  query  promised  to  yield  a  good  crop  of  infor- 
mation should  it  be  satisfactorily  dealt  with.  Turning  to 
his  notes,  he  found  that  the  former  owner  of  the  Putney 
house  was  a  tutor  or  preparatory  school-master,  named 
the  Rev.  Septimus  Childe. 

Could  it  be  that  this  was  the  school  in  which  both  Sir 
Charles  Dyke  and  Mensmore  were  fellow-students?  If 
so,  Bruce  failed  to  see  why  he  should  not  forthwith  place 
the  whole  of  the  facts  in  his  possession  at  the  service  of 
the  police,  and  allow  the  law  to  take  its  course. 

On  this  supposition,  the  case  against  Mensmore  was 
very  black ;  not,  indeed,  incapable  of  explanation  —  for 
circumstantial  evidence  occasionally  plays  strange  pranks 
with  logic  —  but  of  such  a  grave  nature  that  no  private 
individual  would  be  justified  in  keeping  his  knowledge  to 
himself. 

The  deduction  was  intensely  disagreeable;  but  Bruce 
resolved  to  coerce  his  thoughts,  and  do  that  which  was 
right,  irrespective  of  consequences. 

He  did  not  possess  a  Clergy  List.  No  letter  came  from 
Mrs.  Hillmer,  so  he  walked  across  the  Park  to  his  club  in 
Pall  Mall  to  consult  the  appropriately  bound  black  and 
white  volume  which  gives  reference  to  the  many  degrees 
of  the  Church  of  England. 

Septimus  Childe  was  a  distinctive,  though  simple,  name. 
And  it  was  not  there.  There  was  not  a  Childe  with  a 
final  "e"  in  the  whole  book.  Without  that  important 
letter,  as  his  informant  might  be  mistaken,  there  were 
several.  Close  scrutiny  of  each  man's  designation  and 
duties  convinced  him  that  though  any  of  these  might  be 
one  of  the  particular  Childe's  children,  none  answered  to 
the  description  of  the  gentleman  he  sought. 

Of  course,  he  could  always  apply  to  Sir  Charles  Dyke, 

[153] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

but  he  dreaded  approaching  the  grief-stricken  baronet  on 
this  matter.  Now  there  was  no  help  for  it.  The  barrister 
was  beginning  to  feel  impatient  at  the  constant  difficulties 
which  barred  progress  in  each  direction.  After  all,  it  was 
a  small  thing  merely  to  ask  his  friend  if  he  ever  knew  a 
reverend  gentleman  named  Childe. 

Bruce  was  sure  that  Sir  Charles  would  not  be  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Childe,  and  also  with  the  fact  that  the  Putney 
house  had  served  as  his  school,  for  it  would  be  strange 
beyond  credence  if  it  were  so  that  he  had  not  mentioned  it. 

The  weather  was  still  clear  and  cold,  and  a  wintry  sun 
made  walking  pleasant.  Claude,  on  quitting  his  club,  set 
out  again  on  foot.  He  crossed  St.  James's  Square, 
Jermyn  Street,  and  Piccadilly,  and  made  his  way  to 
Oxford  Street  up  New  Bond  Street. 

Not  often  did  he  frequent  these  fashionable  thorough- 
fares, and  he  had  an  excellent  reason.  When  walking,  he 
was  given  to  abstraction,  and  seldom  saw  his  acquaint- 
ances if  he  encountered  them  in  unusual  quarters.  He 
would  thus  cut  dead  a  woman  at  whose  house  he  had 
dined  the  previous  evening,  or,  when  he  was  in  practice  at 
the  Bar,  fail  to  notice  the  salutation  of  his  own  leader. 

To  Claude  himself  this  short-coming  was  intolerable; 
consciousness  of  it  when  in  the  West  made  him  the  most 
alert  man  in  the  crowd  to  note  anybody  whom  he  knew, 
except  on  the  rare  occasions  when  he  forgot  his  failing. 

This  morning  Bond  Street  was  pleasantly  full.  People 
were  beginning  to  return  to  town.  Parliament  re-assem- 
bled in  a  few  days,  and  he  passed  many  who  were  on  his 
visiting  list. 

Outside  a  well-known  costumer's  he  saw  a  brougham, 
into  which  a  lady  had  just  been  assisted  by  the  commis- 
sionaire. 

[154] 


A  Possible  Explanation 

It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  recognize  an  acquaintance 
by  the  color  of  his  horse,  or  the  peculiar  cut  of  the  coach- 
man's whiskers.  This  time  Bruce  knew  the  driver  as 
well  as  the  equipage,  but  the  lady  was  not  Mrs.  Hillmer. 

Instantly  he  was  at  the  door,  with  his  hat  lifted;  he 
assumed  an  expression  of  polite  regret  as  he  saw  Dobson, 
the  maid,  in  her  mistress's  place. 

"Sorry,"  he  said,  "I  knew  the  carriage,  and  thought 
that  Mrs.  Hillmer  was  inside.  She  is  well,  I  trust." 

"Not  very,  sir,"  answered  the  maid  with  an  angry  pout. 

"Indeed,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Madame  is  going  away,  and  has  put  us  all  on  board 
wages." 

Dobson  had  some  of  the  privileges  of  a  companion,  and 
resented  this  relegation  to  the  servants'  hall. 

"Going  away?"  cried  Bruce.  "A  sudden  departure, 
eh?" 

The  girl  was  arranging  some  parcels  on  the  seat  in  front 
of  her.  She  was  not  disinclined  for  a  conversation  with 
this  good-looking  gentleman,  so  she  smiled  archly,  as  she 
said:  "Didn't  you  know,  sir  ?  I  thought  you  would  know 
all  about  it." 

What  he  might  have  ascertained  by  a  longer  chat  the 
barrister  could  not  tell,  for  an  interruption  occurred. 
The  coachman  was  more  loyal  to  his  mistress  than  the 
maid. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  cried,  "  but  the  missus  told  us  to 
hurry  " ;  and  he  whipped  his  steed  into  the  passing  stream 
of  carriages. 

"More  complications,"  murmured  Claude.  "Mrs. 
Hillmer  contemplates  a  bolt.  Shall  I  pay  her  another 
visit  and  surprise  her  ?  No,  confound  it,  I  will  not.  Let 
her  go,  and  let  things  take  their  course." 

[155] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Not  in  the  most  amiable  frame  of  mind  at  this  discovery, 
he  pursued  his  walk  to  Portman  Square. 

Sir  Charles  Dyke  was  at  home.     He  always  was,  now. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  Mr.  Bruce,"  whispered  Thompson 
in  the  hall,  "try  to  persuade  Sir  Charles  to  quit  smokin', 
and  readin',  and  thinkin'.  He  sits  all  day  in  the  library 
and  'ardly  has  anything  to  eat." 

Claude  reproached  himself  for  having  neglected  his 
resolution  to  stir  his  friend  into  something  like  animation. 
He  was  wondering  what  he  should  do  in  the  matter, 
when  the  baronet  rose  at  his  entrance,  saying,  with  a 
weary  smile: 

"Well,  old  fellow,  what  news?" 

The  other  suddenly  decided  to  throw  all  questioning  to 
the  winds  for  the  moment.  "I  have  come  to  bring  you 
out.  I  won't  hear  of  a  refusal.  Let  us  walk  to  the  club 
and  have  lunch  and  a  game  of  billiards." 

Sir  Charles  protested.  He  had  slept  badly  and  was 
tired. 

"  All  the  more  reason  that  you  should  sleep  well  to-night. 
Come,  now,  be  advised.  You  will  allow  yourself  to  be- 
come a  hopeless  invalid  if  you  go  on  in  this  way." 

Dyke  unwillingly  consented,  and  they  left  the  house. 
The  older  man  brightened  up  considerably  amidst  the 
bustle  of  the  streets.  His  color  returned,  he  talked  with 
some  degree  of  cheerfulness,  and  even  laughed  as  he 
said: 

"I  never  understood  you  were  a  doctor,  Claude,  in 
addition  to  your  other  varied  acquirements.  For  the  first 
time  since  —  since  November  last,  I  feel  hungry." 

"  Why  don't  you  take  my  advice,  and  go  away  for  some 
shooting?  It  is  not  too  late,  even  now,  to  go  after  a 
hare." 

[156] 


A  Possible  Explanation 

"  I  will  think  of  it.  I  wonder  who  we  shall  meet  at  the 
club." 

"Lots  of  fellows,  no  doubt.  And,  by  the  way,  you 
must  be  prepared  for  one  little  difficulty.  Suppose  they 
ask  about  your  wife  ?  " 

The  baronet's  momentary  gaiety  vanished.  He  stopped 
short,  and  clutched  Bruce's  arm.  "Don't  you  see,"  he 
almost  moaned,  "that  this  is  the  reason  I  have  remained 
indoors  for  so  long  ?  What  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"You  must  make  the  best  of  it.  Say,  off-handedly, 
you  don't  know  where  she  is  —  either  with  relations  or  in 
Italy.  Anything  will  do,  and  it  will  create  a  false  impres- 
sion." 

"  I  am  sick  of  false  impressions.     I  cannot  do  it." 

"You  must." 

The  stronger  will  prevailed,  and  they  entered  the  doors 
of  the  Imperial,  where,  of  course,  Dyke  was  hailed  at  once 
by  a  dozen  men. 

"Hallo,  Charlie!    Been  seedy?" 

"  Good  gracious,  Dyke !  have  you  had  influenza  ?  I've 
missed  you  for  months,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it." 

"I  haven't  seen  your  wife  for  quite  a  time.  How  is 
she?" 

In  the  multitude  of  questions  there  was  safety. 

Sir  Charles  answered  vaguely,  and  a  chance  arrival 
created  a  diversion  by  announcing  that  the  favorite  had 
broken  down  in  his  preparation  for  the  Grand  National. 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  the  two  found  themselves  en- 
sconced in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  smoking-room.  Bruce 
seized  the  opportunity. 

"  You  told  me,"  he  said,  "  that  Mensmore  and  you  were 
at  school  together?" 

"Did  I?"  said  the  baronet. 

[157] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Yes;  don't  you  remember?" 

"I  get  mixed  up  in  thinking  about  things.  But  it  is 
all  right.  We  were." 

"Whereabouts?" 

"  Oh,  a  private  establishment  kept  by  an  old  chap  called 
Septimus  Childe,  —  Lucky  Number  was  our  nickname 
for  him." 

Bruce  betrayed  no  surprise  at  this  startlingly  simple 
statement.  He  said  casually: 

"I  mean  where  was  the  school  situated?" 

"At  Brighton  in  my  time.  But  afterwards  he  shifted 
to  some  place  near  London  —  something  to  do  with  exam- 
inations, I  fancy." 

"  But  don't  you  know  where  ?  " 

"How  should  I?  I  was  at  Sandhurst  then.  I  believe 
the  old  boy  is  dead.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  has  something  to  do  with  the  inquiry.  I  won't 
trouble  you  now  with  the  details." 

"Go  on,  I  can  stand  it." 

"  But  where  is  the  good  in  paining  you  needlessly  ?  " 

"That  stage  has  passed,  old  chap.  My  wife's  memory 
has  almost  become  a  dream  to  me." 

"Well,  it  is  an  extraordinary  thing,  but  that  place 
where  —  that  house  at  Putney,  you  know,  must  have  been 
the  new  school  of  the  Rev.  Septimus  Childe." 

"  How  did  you  learn  that  ?  " 

"I  have  known  it  for  months,  ever  since  the  inquest." 

"  And  you  did  not  tell  me  ?  " 

"True,  but  at  the  time  it  seemed  of  no  consequence. 
Now  that  Mensmore  turns  out  to  be  a  pupil  of  his,  and 
probably  passed  the  remainder  of  his  early  school  days  at 
that  very  establishment,  the  incident  assumes  a  degree  of 
importance." 

[158] 


A  Possible  Explanation 

Sir  Charles  looked  earnestly  at  his  friend  as  he  put  his 
next  question:  "Tell  me,  Claude,  do  you  seriously  be- 
lieve that  Mensmore  had  anything  to  do  with  my  wife's 
death?" 

"  I  cannot  honestly  give  you  a  satisfactory  answer." 

"  But  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  If  you  press  me  I  will  try  to  put  my  opinion  into  words. 
Mensmore  was  in  some  mysterious  way  associated  with 
the  crime;  but  the  degree  of  association,  and  whether 
conscious  or  unconscious,  I  do  not  know." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  conscious  or  unconscious '  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  that  Lady  Dyke  met  her  death  in  his  resi- 
dence; but  it  is  impossible  to  say  now  if  he  was  aware  of 
her  presence.  He  was  in  London  at  the  time,  that  is 
quite  certain." 

"Do  the  police  know  all  this?" 

"No." 

"I  am  glad  of  it.  Mensmore  did  not  kill  my  wife. 
The  suggestion  is  absurd  —  wildly  absurd." 

"Things  look  black  against  him,  nevertheless." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  nonsense.  You  are  on  the  wrong  track, 
Bruce.  What  possible  reason  could  he  have  had  to  decoy 
my  wife  to  his  flat  and  there  murder  her  ?  " 

"None,  perhaps." 

"  Then  why  do  you  hesitate  to  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"Because  there  is  a  woman  in  the  case." 

"Another  woman?" 

"Yes;  Mensmore's  sister,  or  half-sister,  to  be  exact. 
She  also  lives  in  Raleigh  Mansions." 

"Indeed.  So  all  kinds  of  things  have  been  going  on 
without  my  knowledge.  Yet  you  promised  faithfully  to 
keep  me  informed  of  every  incident  that  transpired." 

"I  am  sorry,  Dyke;  but  you  were  so  upset — " 

[159] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Upset,  man.  Don't  you  realize  that  this  affair  is  all 
I  have  to  think  about  in  the  world?" 

The  baronet  was  so  disturbed  that  Claude  at  once  made 
up  his  mind  to  tell  him  as  little  as  possible  in  the  future. 
These  constant  possibilities  of  rupture  between  them  must 
be  avoided  at  all  hazard. 

To  change  the  conversation  he  said :  "  Never  mind ;  this 
time  you  must  pardon  my  inadvertence.  How  do  your 
wife's  people  bear  the  continued  mystery  of  her  disap- 
pearance ?  " 

"At  first  they  were  awfully  cut  up.  But  lately  they 
have  been  reconciled  to  her  death,  which  they  say  must 
have  resulted  from  accident,  and  that  her  identity  must 
have  been  mixed  up  with  that  of  some  other  person.  Such 
things  do  happen,  you  know.  Anyway,  her  sister  has 
gone  into  mourning  for  her.  You  didn't  hear,  I  suppose, 
that  I  have  made  my  little  nephew  my  heir  ?  " 

"  Was  that  step  necessary  at  your  time  of  life  ?  " 

"I  shall  never  marry  again,  Bruce." 

"Well,  let  us  drop  the  subject.  You  have  done  right 
as  regards  the  boy  under  present  circumstances;  but,  as  a 
man  of  the  world,  I  only  point  out  that  it  is  an  unwise 
thing  to  bring  up  a  youngster  in  expectation  of  something 
which  chance  might  determine  differently." 

"Chance!  There  is  no  chance!  My  wife  cannot 
return  from  the  grave!" 

"True.  You  have  done  right,  no  doubt.  But  the 
suddenness  of  the  thing  caused  me  to  speak  unwittingly." 

They  were  silent  for  a  little  while,  when  Sir  Charles 
returned  to  the  subject  nearest  his  heart. 

"  Has  your  search  developed  in  other  directions  ?  " 

Bruce  fenced  with  the  query.  "To  be  candid,"  he 
said,  "I  am  now  most  busily  engaged  in  the  not  very 

[160] 


A  Possible  Explanation 

difficult  task  of  throwing  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  police. 
My  motives  are  hardly  definite  to  myself,  but  I  do  not 
want  this  unfortunate  man,  Mensmore,  to  be  arrested 
until  I  have  personally  become  convinced  of  his  guilt." 

"You  are  right.  Your  instinct  seldom  fails  you.  I 
question  if  he  ever,  to  his  own  knowledge,  saw  my  wife." 

"  Ah !  You  see  you  have  hit  upon  the  difficulty.  Show 
me  her  reason  for  making  that  secret  journey,  and  I  will 
tell  you  how  she  met  her  death." 

His  concluding  words  sank  to  a  murmur.  An  old  friend 
of  Dyke's  had  entered  the  room  and  came  toward  them. 

A  few  minutes  later  Bruce  quitted  the  Imperial  and 
drove  to  his  chambers,  where  he  found  a  note  from  the 
ticket  collector  stating  that  Foxey's  name  was  William 
Marsh. 

The  day  was  still  young,  and  the  barrister  paid  a  visit 
to  the  West  London  Police  Court,  where  the  records  soon 
revealed  the  conviction  of  the  cab-driver  and  the  period 
of  his  sentence. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  resident  inspector,  "  his  time  at 
Holloway  is  up  on  February  6.  That  is  a  Monday,  and 
as  Sunday  doesn't  count,  he  will  be  liberated  on  the  4th, 
about  8  A.M.  That  is  the  habit,  sir,  in  the  matter  of 
short  sentences.  If  you  want  to  see  him  when  he  leaves 
the  jail  you  can  either  wait  at  the  gates  or  at  the  nearest 
public-house,  where  the  prisoners  go  for  their  first  drink. 
They  seldom  or  never  miss." 

Bruce  thanked  the  official  and  returned  home. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  going  out  to  drive,  when  he 
received  a  letter  from  Sir  Charles  Dyke.  It  ran: 

"  My  Dear  Claude,  —  Today's  experiences  have  taught 
me  to  take  the  inevitable  step  of  announcing  my  wife's 

[161] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

death.  Hence,  I  have  forwarded  the  enclosed  notice  to 
an  advertisement  agency,  with  instructions  to  insert  it  in 
the  principal  papers.  I  have  also  decided  to  follow  your 
advice  and  leave  town  for  a  few  days.  I  am  going  to 
Wensley,  my  place  in  Yorkshire,  should  you  happen  to 
want  me.  Yours, 

"CHARLES  DYKE." 
The  notice  read: 

"  DYKE.  —  On  November  6,  Alice,  wife  of  Sir  Charles 
Dyke,  Bart.,  suddenly,  at  London." 

Next  morning  it  figured  in  the  obituary  columns  of 
many  newspapers.  Bruce,  though  taken  back  by  the 
suddenness  of  his  friend's  resolve,  saw  no  reason  to  en- 
deavor to  dissuade  him.  In  the  words  of  the  letter,  it 
was  "the  inevitable  step." 


[162] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
WHAT   HAPPENED    ON   THE    RIVIERA 

THE  White  Heather  swung  quietly  at  her  moorings  in 
the  harbor  of  Genoa  the  Superb.  The  lively  company  on 
board,  tired  after  a  day's  sight-seeing,  had  left  the  marble 
streets  and  palace  cafes  to  the  Genoese,  and  sought  the 
pleasant  seclusion  of  the  yacht's  airy  promenade  deck. 

"Dinner  on  board,  followed  by  a  dance,"  said  Phyllis, 
as  arbiter  of  the  procedure.  A  few  hasty  invitations  sent 
out  to  British  residents  in  Genoa  met  with  general  accept- 
ance, and  the  lull  between  afternoon  tea  and  the  more 
formal  meal  was  a  grateful  interlude. 

Genoa  is  so  shut  in  by  its  amphitheatre  of  hills  that 
unless  a  gale  blows  from  the  west  its  bay  is  unruffled,  and 
its  atmosphere  oppressively  hot  during  the  day,  even  in 
the  winter  months. 

Sir  William  Browne's  excursion  had  proved  so  attractive 
to  those  invited  that  the  White  Heather  was  taken  farther 
along  the  coast  than  was  originally  intended.  When  all 
the  best  known  resorts  of  the  Riviera  itself  were  exploited, 
some  one,  probably  prompted  thereto  by  Phyllis  or  Mens- 
more,  suggested  a  run  to  Genoa. 

They  had  been  in  the  port  three  days,  and  on  the  morrow 
would  hand  the  yacht  over  to  the  owner's  agents,  those  on 
board  separating  on  their  different  routes.  The  Brownes 
went  to  Florence  and  Rome,  and  Mensmore  was  pretend- 

[163] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

ing  to  hold  out  against  a  pressing  request  to  accompany 
them,  cordially  given  by  his  prospective  father-in-law. 

This  afternoon  Phyllis  and  he  were  leaning  over  the 
taffrail  and  discussing  the  point. 

The  young  lady  was  slightly  inclined  to  be  angry.  Her 
eyes  roamed  over  the  magnificent  panorama  of  church- 
crowned  hills  and  verdant  valleys,  with  the  white  city  in 
front  and  the  picturesque  quays  looking  as  though  they 
had  been  specially  decked  for  a  painting  by  Clara  Mon- 
talba.  But  Phyllis  paid  heed  to  none  of  these  things. 
She  wanted  her  lover  to  come  with  her,  and  not  to  fly  away 
to  smoke-covered  London. 

"Business!"  she  cried,  "it  is  always  business  that  men 
think  of.  Of  course  I  know  that  affairs  must  be  attended 
to,  but  now  that  everything  is  settled  and  we  are  quite 
happy,  it  is  too  bad  of  you  to  run  away  immediately." 

"But,  dearest—" 

"There!  Take  your  hand  off  my  arm.  You  are  not 
going  to  coax  me  into  agreement.  Just  because  you 
receive  a  horrid  letter  this  morning  you  go  and  upset  all 
the  arrangements." 

"Phyllis,  listen  to  me.     I  —  " 

"You  shan't  go.  I  think  it  is  mean  of  you  to  insist 
upon  it  when  I  am  so  urgent." 

"I  am  not  insisting.  You  might  at  least  help  me  to 
settle  matters;  otherwise  they  will  get  terribly  mixed." 

"  And  you  will  stay  ?  " 

"  What  else  can  I  do  when  you  ask  me  ? " 

"Oh,  you  darling!" 

This  little  quarrel  was  very  delightful,  and  made  them 
feel  ever  so  much  more  in  love  than  before;  but  it  did  not 
help  Mensmore  out  of  his  difficulty. 

[164] 


What  Happened  on  the  Riviera 

"Let  us  see  what  Corbett  really  says,"  he  remarked, 
ruefully  taking  a  letter  from  his  pocket. 

"Am  I  to  look,  too?" 

"  Of  course.     I  have  no  secrets  from  you,  little  woman." 

Phyllis  nestled  up  close  to  him.  This  time  she  did  not 
object  to  his  hand  resting  on  her  shoulder,  and  together 
they  read  the  following  letter: 

"  My  Dear  Bertie,  —  At  last  I  am  able  to  write  you 
definitely.  The  prospectors  have  struck  it  rich  on  our 
property,  and  I  have  sold  two  claims  outright  for  $50,000. 
With  this  nest-egg  I  am  taking  the  girls  to  New  York,  and 
shall  then  start  by  the  Teutonic  for  your  side  of  the  pond. 
I  am  due  in  Liverpool  on  February  4,  so  look  out  for  me. 
"Yours  ever, 

"SYDNEY  H.  CORBETT." 

Both  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  document  for  a  few 
moments  before  Phyllis  said: 

"  Does  that  mean  we  shall  be  rich,  Bertie  ? " 

Her  companion  emphasized  the  gratification  of  the 
plural  pronoun  by  a  squeeze. 

"I  hope  so,  sweet." 

"That  will  be  very  nice,  won't  it?  I  will  marry  you 
even  if  you  have  to  take  a  place  in  father's  office;  but  it 
will  be  so  much  better  if  we  haven't  to  explain  to  him  that 
we  are  poor  after  all." 

Mensmore  laughed.  "It  is  not  so  bad  as  that  in  any 
case,"  he  said.  "This  Springbok  Mine  speculation  will 
probably  turn  out  well,  but  I  look  to  Wyoming  to  yield 
the  best  and  most  permanent  results." 

"Why  is  Mr.  Corbett  coming  to  London?" 

"Because  it  is  only  in  London  that  capital  can  be 

[165] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

obtained  for  large  undertakings,  and  if  the  Wyoming 
Goldfield  is  really  a  valuable  one  we  may  be  able  to  realize 
some  portion  of  our  interests  for  a  considerable  sum. 
Anyhow,  he  wants  to  consult  me." 

"  Do  you  both  own  the  ranch  ?  " 

"  Yes;  it  was  a  joint  transaction,  but  I  found  the  money." 

"  And  why  did  you  come  away  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  made  very  little  out  of  it,  Phil.  As  Corbett 
has  two  sisters,  I  thought  it  best  to  leave  what  there  was 
for  him.  He  was  absurdly  grateful  about  what  he  called 
my  generosity  in  the  matter,  but  now  that  the  land  has 
proved  valuable,  of  course  all  that  nonsense  is  at  an  end, 
and  we  go  half-shares  in  the  deal." 

"  Two  sisters !    They  pretty  ?  " 

"What!  Jealous  already!  They  are  very  nice,  but 
much  older  than  their  brother,  and  he  is  my  senior  by  two 
years." 

Miss  Browne  was  graciously  pleased  to  accept  this 
explanation.  She  knitted  her  smooth  brow  into  a  reflec- 
tive frown  as  she  said: 

"Mr.  Corbett  arrives  on  the  4th.  It  is  now  January 
30th.  You  really  ought  to  go  home,  Bertie." 

"  Now  my  dear,  sensible  little  woman  is  talking  like  her 
own  self." 

"  I  see  I  must  give  you  permission.  But  I  did  hope  we 
would  see  Florence  together." 

"So  we  shall.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  can  do.  I  shall 
write  to  Corbett  to-day,  care  of  the  steamer  at  Liverpool, 
tell  him  to  go  to  my  flat,  and  stay  there  a  few  days  until 
I  arrive,  and  go  home  myself  at  the  end  of  next  week. 
He  is  sure  to  spend  some  time  seeing  the  sights  before 
tackling  business,  and  he  can  do  that  as  well  without  me 
as  if  I  were  there.  A  line  to  my  old  housekeeper,  who  has 

[166] 


What  Happened  on  the  Riviera 

a  spare  key,  will  make  the  place  habitable  for  him.  Happy 
thought,  I'll  do  it." 

"And  another  happy  thought!  I'll  come  and  watch 
you  do  it." 

She  did  not  notice  that  Mensmore's  face  clouded  at  this 
otherwise  pleasant  intimation.  Nevertheless,  he  raced  off 
with  her  to  the  saloon  and  seated  himself  at  the  writing- 
table.  But  before  he  placed  pen  to  paper,  Phyllis  bending 
over  him  meanwhile,  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of 
annoyance : 

"Now,  what  a  bore  this  is.  I  don't  know  how  to  ad- 
dress the  letter  to  make  sure  of  reaching  him  at  once,  and 
it  is  very  important  that  it  should  not  miss  him." 

"Father  will  know.     Let  us  ask  him." 

"  No,"  said  Mensmore  judicially,  "  I  will  row  across  the 
harbor  to  the  Florio-Rubattino  office,  find  out  the  exact 
thing,  and  send  off  the  letter.  Back  in  half-an-hour.  Be 
good!" 

And  before  Phyllis  could  argue  the  matter  he  was  at  the 
gangway  shouting  for  a  boat. 

She  blew  a  kiss  to  him  as  he  shot  over  the  narrow  strip 
of  water  inside  the  mole,  and  little  realized  that  Mensmore 
was  saying  to  himself: 

"That  was  a  narrow  squeak.  Never  again,  as  long  as 
I  live,  will  I  take  another  man's  name.  It  causes  no  end 
of  bother,  and  at  the  most  unexpected  moments." 

He  did  not  trouble  the  Florio-Rubattino  people,  as  he 
well  knew  that  a  letter  addressed  to  the  White  Star  offices 
would  insure  any  communication  reaching  his  friend. 

The  context  of  the  missive,  as  finally  indited  at  the 
post-office,  explains  his  hesitancy  to  write  it  in  the  presence 
of  his  fiancee. 

[167] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  My  dear  Sydney,  —  Your  good  news  is  more  than 
surprising.  Although  I  believe  you,  I  cannot  yet  grasp 
its  full  significance.  However,  let  us  leave  explanations 
until  we  meet.  I  am  fixed  here  for  a  few  days  more,  as  I 
have  just  become  engaged  to  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world, 
but  will  return  home  at  the  end  of  next  week.  Meanwhile 
I  want  you  to  take  up  your  residence  at  my  flat,  No.  12 
Raleigh  Mansions,  Sloane  Square,  where  my  housekeeper 
has  instructions  to  receive  you.  Do  not  be  surprised  if 
you  find  the  name  of  Corbett  familiar  there.  Indeed,  I 
took  the  place  in  your  name  in  August  last.  However, 
all  explanations  when  we  meet. 
"Yours  ever, 

"BERTIE  MENSMORE." 

This,  with  a  note  to  the  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Robinson, 
and  another  to  the  hall-porter  of  the  Universities  Club, 
lest  by  any  chance  the  Liverpool  letter  missed  his  friend, 
completed  his  task. 

He  laughed  as  he  hurried  from  the  post-office  to  the 
harbor. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  said  to  himself,  "  won't  old  Robinson  be 
surprised  when  she  gets  my  letter  telling  her  that  another 
Mr.  Corbett  is  coming  from  America,  and  that  my  name, 
concealed  for  family  reasons,  is  Mensmore.  I  guess  that 
Sydney  will  feel  a  bit  mixed  up,  too,  until  I  tell  him  the 
whole  yarn." 

No  wonder  his  housekeeper  would  fail  to  understand 
him. 

Others,  whose  influence  on  his  fortunes  he  little  sus- 
pected, were  already  puzzled  by  the  circumstances.  Bruce, 
for  instance,  and  White  would  be  very  glad  if  some  occult 

[168] 


What  Happened  on  the  Riviera 

power  enabled  them  to  read  the  seemingly  trivial  letters 
posted  that  day  in  Genoa. 

Every  person  known  to  the  reader,  and  not  the  least 
the  visitor  from  the  United  States,  was  on  the  eve  of  a  mad 
whirl  of  events,  the  outcome  of  which  no  man  could 
prophesy.  As  yet,  one  man  only,  Claude  Bruce,  had  the 
slightest  suspicion  that  affairs  were  approaching  a  crisis. 

When  Mensmore  reached  the  White  Heather  he  found 
Lady  Browne  and  Phyllis  dressed  for  a  drive  before 
dinner.  Sir  William  seized  the  opportunity  to  cross-ex- 
amine his  daughter's  suitor  as  to  his  means.  Phyllis  was 
an  only  child,  and  her  father  did  not  propose  that  she 
should  live  in  penury,  whatever  the  financial  position  of 
her  husband  might  be.  He  liked  Mensmore,  and  had 
ascertained  by  private  inquiries  that  his  social  position 
was  good. 

"  His  father  was  a  Major-General,"  said  his  informant, 
"  who  lost  his  savings  by  speculation,  and  was  unable  to 
maintain  his  son  in  a  crack  cavalry  corps,  so  the  youngster 
resigned  and  went  to  America  to  try  to  better  himself. 
There  was  a  daughter,  too,  by  the  first  wife,  a  very  charm- 
ing woman,  who,  when  the  crash  came,  was  supposed  to 
have  gone  on  the  stage.  But  I  have  never  heard  of  her 
since." 

So  far,  the  credentials  were  not  bad;  but  Sir  William 
thought  it  his  duty  to  ascertain  definite  particulars. 

Mensmore  was  quite  candid  with  him. 

"I  have  been  somewhat  of  a  rolling  stone,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  am  glad  to  believe  that  people  have  never  had  cause 
to  think  ill  of  me.  At  times,  my  affairs  have  been  at  a 
desperate  stage,  but  I  hope  such  periods  have  passed  for- 
ever. I  have  already  spoken  to  you  about  the  Springbok 
Mine—" 

[169] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

The  old  gentleman  nodded. 

"Well,  this  morning  I  have  received  very  satisfactory 
news  from  America,"  and  he  handed  over  Corbett's  letter 
for  perusal. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Sir  William,  "these  things  promise 
well.  We  will  look  into  them  when  we  reach  England. 
Meanwhile,  I  give  my  provisional  sanction  to  my  daugh- 
ter's engagement.  She  is  a  good  girl,  Mensmore.  She 
will  be  a  true  and  excellent  wife.  I  think  you  are  worthy 
of  her,  and  I  hope  that  whatever  clouds  may  have  darkened 
your  life  will  now  pass  away.  You  two  ought  to  be 
happy." 

"  We  will,  sir,"  said  Mensmore  fervently. 

"  By  the  way,  where  is  your  sister  ?  Is  she  in  England 
or  abroad  ?  " 

Mensmore  had  been  expecting  this  question.  He  was 
prepared  for  it. 

"  Mrs.  Hillmer  is  my  half-sister,"  he  explained.  "I  have 
not  seen  much  of  her  since  —  since  an  unhappy  marriage 
she  contracted  some  years  ago." 

"  Indeed.     Is  her  husband  alive  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you.  I  believe  so.  But  she  does  not 
live  with  him.  She  is  well  provided  for,  but  it  was  partly 
on  account  of  this  matter  that  I  came  to  the  Riviera  for 
the  winter.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  quarrelled  with  her  about 
it." 

"Ah,  well.  Her  troubles  need  not  affect  Phyllis  and 
you,  except  to  give  you  warning.  And  take  my  advice. 
Never  interfere  between  husband  and  wife.  However 
good  your  motive,  ill  is  sure  to  come  of  it." 

In  the  growing  dusk  Sir  William  Browne  did  not  note 
his  companion's  embarrassment  in  discussing  this  topic. 
Mensmore  was  essentially  an  honorable  man,  and  he 

[170] 


What  Happened  on  the  Riviera 

detested  the  necessity  which  forced  him  to  permit  false 
inferences  to  be  drawn  from  his  words.  Yet  there  was 
no  help  for  it.  He  was  compelled  to  suffer  for  the  faults 
of  another. 

It  was  relief  when  the  dressing-bell  for  dinner  allowed 
him  to  escape  to  his  cabin. 

There  was  quite  a  large  gathering  for  dinner.  Places 
like  Genoa  contain  a  number  of  highly  interesting  per- 
sonages if  the  visitor  discovers  them.  The  British  race 
produces  a  richer  variety  of  human  flotsam  and  jetsam 
than  any  other.  These  derelicts  come  to  anchor  in  out- 
of-the-way  parts  of  the  earth.  They  seem  to  have  been 
everywhere  and  have  done  everything,  while  the  whole 
world  is  an  open  book  to  them. 

Thus  there  was  no  lack  of  variety  in  the  conversation, 
and,  as  usual  in  such  assemblies,  it  dealt  more  with 
persons  than  with  incidents. 

Phyllis  had  arranged  the  guests,  so  it  may  be  taken  for 
granted  that  her  lover  was  near  her  —  in  fact,  he  sat 
exactly  opposite.  The  lady  he  took  in  to  dinner  was  the 
wife  of  an  English  doctor,  and  the  British  consul  at  the 
port  was  Miss  Browne's  table  companion. 

The  consul  was  a  chatty  man,  who  kept  himself  well 
informed  concerning  society  events. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said  to  Phyllis,  "did  you  ever  meet 
Lady  Dyke?" 

"  No,  her  name  is  not  familiar  to  me." 

"Do  you  mean  the  wife  of  Sir  Charles  Dyke?"  said 
Mensmore;  and  the  sudden  interest  he  evinced  caused 
Phyllis  to  glance  at  him  wonderingly. 

"Yes,  that  is  she." 

"I  know  Sir  Charles  well.  What  is  there  new  about 
his  wife  ?  " 

[171] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"She  is  dead." 

"  Good  Heavens !    Dead !    When,  and  how  ?  " 

Mensmore  was  so  obviously  agitated  that  others  present 
noticed  it,  and  Phyllis  marvelled  much  that  in  all  their 
confidence  the  name  of  Dyke  had  never  escaped  his  lips. 

The  consul,  too,  was  a  little  nonplussed  by  the  sensation 
caused  by  his  words. 

"I  fear,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  blurted  out  the  fact 
rather  unguardedly.  The  Dykes  are  friends  of  yours  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  not  in  that  sense.  Sir  Charles  I  have  known 
for  many  years.  But  are  you  sure  his  wife  is  dead  ?  " 

"My  authority  is  an  announcement  in  the  Times  to 
hand  by  to-day's  post.  I  should  not  have  mentioned 
it  were  not  her  ladyship  so  well  known  in  society,  and  the 
affair  is  peculiar,  to  say  the  least." 

"Peculiar  —  how?" 

In  his  all-absorbing  interest  in  the  consul's  statement, 
Mensmore  paid  no  heed  to  the  curious  looks  directed  at 
him;  he  had  become  very  pale,  and  was  more  excited  in 
manner  than  the  circumstances  appeared  to  warrant. 

"  In  this  sense :  The  paper  is  the  issue  of  January  28, 
yet  the  notice  says  that  Lady  Dyke  died  on  November  6. 
This  is  odd,  is  it  not?  A  woman  of  her  position  could 
hardly  have  quitted  life  so  quietly  that  no  one  would 
trouble  to  publish  the  fact  until  nearly  three  months  after 
the  event." 

"  It  is  extraordinary  —  inexplicable ! " 

"Did  you  know  Lady  Dyke  personally,  Bertie?"  put 
in  Phyllis  timorously. 

The  question  restored  Mensmore  to  some  sense  of  his 
surroundings. 

"I  have  never  even  seen  her,"  he  said,  trying  desper- 
ately to  be  commonplace;  "but  her  husband  is  an  old 

[172] 


What  Happened  on  the  Riviera 

school-fellow  of  mine,  and  I  have  heard  much  of  both  of 
them  since  their  marriage.  I  am  quite  shocked  by  the 
news." 

"  I  can  only  repeat  my  regret  for  having  spoken  of  it  so 
carelessly,"  said  the  polite  consul. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  to  know  of  it  since  it  has  happened. 
Poor  Lady  Dyke!  How  strange  that  she  should  die!" 

Phyllis  had  the  tact  to  change  the  conversation,  and 
Mensmore  gradually  recovered  his  self-possession.  A 
woman's  eyes  are  keener  than  a  man  often  gives  her  credit 
for;  and  Phyllis  saw  quito  plainly  that  after  the  first  effect 
of  the  news  had  passed  it,  in  some  indefinable  way,  seemed 
to  have  a  good  effect  on  her  lover.  But  if  a  woman's 
intuition  is  seldom  at  fault  her  reasoning  faculties  are 
narrow. 

Trying  to  arrive  at  a  solution  of  the  mystery  attending 
Mensmore's  behavior,  Phyllis  suddenly  became  hot  all 
over. 

She  felt  furiously  and  inordinately  jealous  of  a  woman 
she  did  not  know,  and  who  was  admittedly  dead  before 
Mensmore  and  she  herself  had  met. 

Hence  her  nose  went  high  in  the  air  when  Bertie  claimed 
her  for  the  first  dance. 

"Who  is  this  Lady  Dyke  in  whom  you  are  so  deeply 
interested  ? "  she  said,  drawing  him  beneath  a  sheltering 
awning. 

"As  I  said,"  replied  Mensmore,  "she  is  the  wife  of  an 
old  acquaintance  of  mine." 

"But  you  must  have  been  very  fond  of  her  to  feel  so 
keenly  when  you  heard  of  her  death  ?  " 

"Fond  of  her!  I  have  never,  to  my  knowledge,  laid 
eyes  on  her." 

[173] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Oh ! "  And  the  tone  was  somewhat  mollified.  "  Then 
why  did  you  look  so  worried  during  dinner  ? " 

"Simply  because  I  know  Sir  Charles." 

"  What  a  dear,  sympathetic  little  boy  you  are !  When  I 
die,  Bertie,  I  suppose  you  will  drop  down  stiff  from  grief 
at  once." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense.  We  are  missing  all  this  delight- 
ful music." 

And  they  whirled  away  down  the  snowy  deck,  forgetful 
of  all  things  save  one,  that  they  were  in  love. 

Now,  what  a  pity  it  was  that  Bruce  was  not  on  board 
the  White  Heather  that  night.  Many  complications,  and 
not  a  little  misery,  would  have  been  avoided  thereby. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
WHERE  MRS.  HILLMER  WENT 

SIR  CHAKLES  DYKE,  in  sending  off  the  hurried  an- 
nouncement of  his  wife's  death,  forgot  the  "society" 
papers. 

Such  a  promising  topic  did  not  come  in  their  way  every 
week,  and  they  made  the  most  of  it.  Where  did  Lady 
Dyke  die  ?  Under  what  circumstances  did  she  die  ?  They 
rolled  the  morsel  under  their  tongue  in  every  conceivable 
manner. 

Details  were  not  forthcoming. 

"  Our  representative  called  at  Wensley  House,  Portman 
Square,  but  was  informed  that  Sir  Charles  was  in  York- 
shire." Inquiry  by  a  local  reporter  from  Sir  Charles  in  per- 
son elicited  no  information.  "  Lady  Dyke  is  dead,"  wrote 
this  enterprising  journalist;  "  of  that  there  can  be  no  man- 
ner of  doubt,  but  her  husband  states  that  for  family  reasons 
he  is  unable  to  supply  the  public  with  the  precise  facts 
concerning  his  wife's  demise." 

This  ill-advised  authentic  statement  only  fanned  the 
flame.  An  evening  journal  got  hold  of  the  proceedings  at 
the  Putney  Coroner's  Court  which  inquired  into  the  death 
of  a  woman  found  in  the  Thames,  and,  with  a  portentous 
display  of  headlines,  published  an  interview  with  the 
doctor  giving  particulars  of  the  iron  spike  found  imbedded 
in  the  skull. 

The  paper  was  also  able  to  state  "on  the  best  author- 
ity" that  at  this  inquest  Sir  Charles  Dyke  and  the  missing 

[175] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

lady's  personal  maid  were  called  in  to  identify  the  body, 
but  failed. 

A  first-class  sensation  was  in  full  swing  and  threatened 
to  reach  the  question  stage  in  the  House  of  Commons  when 
Bruce  took  hold  of  affairs. 

He  went  to  Sir  Charles  Dyke's  solicitors,  and  induced 
them  to  send  out  the  following  authoritative  communica- 
tion to  the  press: 

"  Much  unnecessary  pain  is  being  caused  to  Sir  Charles 
Dyke  and  to  the  relatives  of  his  late  wife  by  the  comments 
which  have  appeared  in  many  newspapers  regarding  Lady 
Dyke's  death.  Her  ladyship  left  her  home  on  November 
6th  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  sister  at  Richmond,  and  since  that 
date  has  not  been  seen  or  heard  of.  There  was  no  pos- 
sible reason  for  her  disappearance.  After  a  long  and 
agonizing  search,  her  husband  and  relatives  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  she  met  with  some  accident  on  the 
date  named,  with  the  result  that  her  identity  was  not 
established,  and  she  was  probably  buried  from  some  hos- 
pital or  other  institution  long  before  her  friends  seriously 
entertained  the  thought  that  she  was  dead.  Every  such 
case  of  accidental  death  followed  by  the  interment  of 
unknown  persons  by  the  authorities,  occurring  on  or  about 
November  6th,  has  since  been  rigidly  investigated,  but  no 
definite  trace  has  been  found  of  the  missing  lady.  Sir 
Charles  Dyke  determined  to  take  the  public  step  of  an- 
nouncing his  wife's  death  in  the  hope  that  any  hitherto 
undiscovered  clue  might  thereby  come  to  light.  But  there 
are  no  grounds  to  suppose  that  any  other  explanation  of 
the  occurrence  than  that  given  will  be  forthcoming.  The 
investigation  has  been  in  the  hands  of  Scotland  Yard 
throughout,  so  no  good  purpose  can  be  served  by  further 
discussion  in  the  press  of  what  is  now,  and  threatens  to 

[176] 


Where  Mrs.  Hillmer  Went 

remain,  a  mystery  rendered  more  complex  by  the  sim- 
plicity of  its  leading  features." 

Several  newspapers,  of  course,  pointed  out  that  they 
were  helping  forward  the  inquiry  by  noising  it  abroad,  but 
thenceforth  the  paragraphs  ceased,  being  eclipsed  in  in- 
terest by  the  revelations  of  a  great  divorce  case  in  which 
there  were  no  less  than  six  titled  co-respondents. 

One  man  was  much  puzzled  by  the  original  obituary  no- 
tice and  the  semi-official  statement  supplied  by  the  solicitors. 

Mr.  White  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  them.  He 
guessed  that  Bruce  had  inspired  that  "  explanation,"  and 
he  read  the  concluding  sentence  many  times. 

"  It  threatens  to  remain  a  mystery,  does  it  not  ?  "  he  mur- 
mured. "  Just  wait,  Mr.  Bruce,  until  I  lay  my  hands  on 
Corbett.  Clever  as  you  are,  I  think  I  will  show  you  that 
Scotland  Yard  can  occasionally  get  the  better  of  your 
theories.  Anyhow,  Corbett  will  have  to  be  very  explicit 
about  his  movements  before  I  am  satisfied  that  he  knows 
nothing  about  this  business." 

He  had  written  to  the  Chief  of  Police  at  Cheyenne,  and 
something  definite  would  soon  come  to  hand. 

Nevertheless,  he  felt  somewhat  shaken  in  his  diagnosis 
of  the  crime.  Wyoming  was  a  long  way  from  London, 
and  the  letter  from  Corbett,  which  he  had  in  his  possession, 
did  not  exactly  confirm  his  suspicion  that  this  man  was 
concerned  in  the  murder  of  Lady  Dyke. 

He  quickly  became  aware  of  Mrs.  Hillmer's  departure, 
and  at  once  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  recently 
left  England  for  the  United  States.  A  close  scrutiny  of 
the  passenger  lists  at  Liverpool  and  Southampton  did  not 
help  him  much,  and  he  ultimately  resolved  to  call  on 
Bruce,  in  the  hope  that  a  chance  exclamation  might  re- 
veal the  barrister's  opinion  of  the  situation. 

[177] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Claude  was  not  at  a  loss  to  account  for  Mr.  White's 
presence. 

"  I  expected  you,"  he  said. 

"  Really  now,  may  I  ask  why,  sir  ?  " 

"  Because  you  have  missed  Mrs.  Hillmer,  and  you  want 
me  to  help  you  find  where  she  has  gone,  and  why." 

The  detective  smiled. 

"I  won't  say  that  you  are  wrong,  sir,"  he  cried.  "In 
these  affairs  it  is  always  well  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  woman, 
you  know." 

"  When  did  Mrs.  Hillmer  leave  Raleigh  Mansions  ?  " 

"On  the  30th." 

"  It  is  now  February  3.     Four  days  ago,  eh  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  time.  She  might  have  left  by  the  American 
line  from  Southampton  or  the  Cunard  from  Liverpool  on 
Wednesday,  but  she  did  not,  and  no  one  answering  to  her 
description  is  booked  by  the  White  Star  to-morrow." 

"Southampton!  Liverpool!  Do  you  think  she  has 
gone  to  America  ?  " 

"  Where  else  ?  She's  in  league  with  Corbett,  somehow, 
of  that  I  am  certain,  and  I  think  that  the  Monte  Carlo 
address  was  a  mere  blind  —  a  clever  one,  too,  as  it  even 
deceived  you,  Mr.  Bruce." 

"Yes.     It  did  deceive  me." 

"  Then  why  are  you  so  surprised  at  the  suggestion  that 
the  lady  should  attempt  to  cross  the  Atlantic  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  not  your  rapid  perception  of  the  points 
of  the  case." 

"  That's  your  way  of  pulling  my  leg,  Mr.  Bruce." 

The  barrister  smiled. 

Mrs.  Hillmer,  of  course,  had  gone  to  Monte  Carlo. 
Once  there  she  would  have  little  difficulty  in  tracing  the 
White  Heather,  and  overtaking  Mensmore. 

[178] 


Where  Mrs.  Hillmer  Went 

She  would  warn  him  of  the  police  pursuit,  and  there 
would  be  a  scene  between  them. 

How  would  it  result?  Would  Mensmore,  guilty,  seek 
safety  in  flight?  Would  he,  innocent,  return  to  London 
and  demand  to  be  confronted  with  his  accusers  ? 

For  the  life  of  him,  Bruce  could  not  say  positively.  Yet 
he  felt  the  situation  was  too  delicate  to  be  dealt  with  by 
Mr.  White's  bludgeon  methods,  and  he  forebore  to  speak. 

The  detective  interpreted  his  silence  as  an  admission 
of  inability  to  find  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  Mrs.  Hill- 
mer's  absence. 

He  went  on: 

"  Corbett  is  not  at  Monte  Carlo." 

"  So  I  imagined." 

"Well,  it  is  a  fact.  The  police  have  made  constant 
inquiries  for  him  at  the  Hotel  du  Cercle  and  elsewhere. 
Not  the  slightest  trace  of  him  can  be  found." 

"  I  was  there  myself,  you  know." 

"Yes,  sir.  I  have  not  forgotten  that.  But  it  shows 
what  a  clever  rascal  the  fellow  is  in  concealing  his  identity. 
However,  he  could  never  have  counted  on  my  discovering 
that  letter  of  his.  Even  if  he  is  not  in  America  we  shall 
have  some  reliable  data  to  go  upon  in  answer  to  my 
queries." 

"There  I  fully  agree  with  you.  You  will  have  done  a 
great  deal  if  you  thoroughly  clear  up  the  mystery  regarding 
Corbett.  May  I  ask  you  to  let  me  know  the  result  ?  " 

"With  pleasure,  sir.  And  now,  can  I  request  a  favor 
in  return  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  what  is,  in  your  opinion,  the  best  way  to 
find  Mrs.  Hillmer." 

Bruce  did  not  expect  to  be  thus  openly  challenged  on 

[179] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

the  matter.  It  was  one  thing  to  withhold  his  own  theories 
and  discoveries  from  this  representative  of  the  majesty  of 
the  law,  but  quite  another  to  refuse  to  help  a  detective 
with  whom  he  was  nominally  working. 

Besides,  Mrs.  Hillmer  had  four  days'  start.  It  would 
take  some  time  —  possibly  a  telegram  would  not  be  suffi- 
ciently explicit  —  to  obtain  the  desired  assistance  from  the 
Continental  police.  Yes  —  in  this  instance,  Mensmore 
must  take  his  chances. 

"  If  I  were  you,"  said  Bruce,  slowly  weighing  his  words, 
"  I  would  inquire  at  the  Continental  booking-offices  at  Victo- 
ria and  Charing  Cross,  and  from  the  guards  in  charge  of  the 
morning  mail  trains  on  the  30th.  In  fact,  it  would  be  quite 
safe  if  you  were  to  wire  the  authorities  at  Monte  Carlo, 
asking  if  Mrs.  Hillmer  is  not  now  at  the  Hotel  du  Cercle," 

The  detective  started  as  though  he  had  been  shot. 

"  What ! "  he  cried,  "  you  think  she  is  there  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  has  been  there  since  Wednesday  morning." 

"That  is  what  I  mean.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me 
sooner  ? " 

"  Because  you  never  asked  me.  And  now,  Mr.  White, 
one  word  of  advice.  Go  slow." 

"  It's  all  jolly  fine  telling  me  to  go  slow  when  I  have  no 
reason  to  go  fast.  The  case  even  against  Corbett  is 
shadowy  enough  at  present." 

"Exactly.     Wait  until  you  can  grasp  a  substance." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  said  White,  jamming  his  hat  on; "  but  when 
I  lay  my  hands  on  Corbett  I  will  grasp  him  hard  enough." 

It  took  the  policeman  all  that  day  to  satisfy  himself  that 
Mrs.  Hillmer  had  really  booked  for  the  Riviera  by  the 
Club  train  from  Charing  Cross  on  the  preceding  Monday. 

Just  as  he  verified  the  fact,  came  a  reply  from  the  Monte 
Carlo  police: 

[180] 


Where  Mrs.  Hillmer  Went 

"Mrs.  Hillmer  arrived  at  the  Hotel  du  Cercle  on 
Wednesday.  Left  for  Italy  same  afternoon.  Shall  we 
endeavor  to  trace  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bother,"  he  growled.  "  Corbett  may  be  in  Jeru- 
salem by  this  time.  And  here  have  I  been  fussing  about 
Wyoming  or  some  other  potato-patch  in  the  Far  West." 

However,  he  wired  again  to  Monte  Carlo : 

"Yes.  Locate  Mrs.  Hillmer,  if  possible.  I  will  then 
telegraph  instructions  to  local  police." 

When  this  message  was  despatched  he  felt  easier  in  his 
mind. 

The  chase  was  at  least  getting  warm. 

"I  cannot  arrest  him  yet,"  he  reflected;  "but  if  I  once 
get  fairly  on  his  track,  I  will  not  lose  sight  of  him  again  if 
I  can  help  it.  I  suppose  it  will  mean  a  trip  to  Italy  for 
me.  I  must  lay  the  evidence  before  the  Treasury  to  see 
if  a  warrant  is  justified." 

Two  days  passed  without  incident. 

Late  on  Sunday  evening,  February  5,  a  Continental 
telegram  was  handed  to  him  at  Scotland  Yard : 

"Mrs.  Hillmer's  present  address,  Hotel  Imperiale, 
Florence." 

He  promptly  wired  the  Chief  of  Police  at  Florence: 

"Keep  Mrs.  Hillmer,  English  visitor,  Hotel  Imperiale, 
under  surveillance.  Also  watch  her  associates,  particularly 
Englishman  named  Corbett,  if  there.  Letter  follows." 

"That's  a  good  stroke  of  business,"  said  he,  when  the 
message  was  sent.  "  Now  we  shan't  be  long ! " 

It  was  in  contented  mood  that  he  lit  a  cigar  in  his  office, 

[181] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

before  walking  home  for  dinner,  but  a  messenger  with  the 
badge  of  the  Commercial  Cable  Company  in  Northumber- 
land Avenue  bustled  past  him. 

"  Who's  the  cable  for,  boy  ?  "  said  the  detective. 

"White,  Scotland  Yard,"  was  the  answer. 

"That's  me." 

He  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  found  that  the  contents 
were  coded,  but  he  caught  the  word  "  Corbett "  amidst  the 
unintelligible  jumble. 

With  some  excitement  he  rushed  into  the  office  to  find 
the  ABC  Code,  and  after  some  confusion  in  deciphering 
the  words,  this  was  what  he  read : 

"Regret  delay  in  replying  to  your  communication. 
Corbett  left  New  York  in  White  Star  steamer  due  Liver- 
pool, February  4." 

"February  4?  Why,  that's  yesterday.  Good  gra- 
cious, he's  here  all  the  time.  Well,  of  all  the  —  " 

But  exclamations  were  useless.  Calling  another  plain- 
clothes  man  to  accompany  him,  he  drove  off  in  mad  haste 
to  Sloane  Square. 

About  an  hour  later  Bruce  received  a  typewritten  slip 
gummed  on  to  a  telegraph  form.  It  was  from  Florence, 
and  ran  as  follows: 

"  My  brother  wildly  excited  regarding  allegations.  We 
start  for  London  tonight.  Meanwhile  fearful  complica- 
tions expected.  Mr.  Corbett,  of  Wyoming,  my  brother's 
friend,  is  probably  occupying  his  flat,  and  may  be  arrested. 
We  both  trust  you  to  save  him.  Wire  us  at  Modane  or 
Gare  du  Nord.  GWENDOLINE  HILLMER." 

So  Bruce  also  raced  off  in  a  hansom  towards  Sloane 
Square. 

[182] 


CHAPTER  XX 
MR.  SYDNEY  H.  CORBETT 

THE  detective  glanced  up  at  Bruce's  chambers  while 
passing  through  Victoria  Street. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  would  think  if  he  knew  what  we  are 
after,"  he  said  to  his  colleague,  one  of  the  two  who  accom- 
panied him  when  the  barrister  was  arrested  by  mistake. 

"  What  are  we  after  ?  "  said  the  policeman. 

"  This  time  we  are  going  to  nail  the  right  Corbett,"  was 
the  confident  answer. 

"Will  we  cart  him  off?" 

"  Well,  now,  that  depends.  I  think  I  am  quite  right  in 
collaring  him  unless  he  explains  to  my  satisfaction,  which 
is  hardly  likely." 

"  The  charge  is  one  of  murder,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Who  did  he  kill?" 

"  Well,  up  to  now  it  hasn't  come  out,  for  the  sake  of 
the  family.  But  if  Corbett  is  here  you  will  know  soon 
enough." 

"  It's  a  funny  way  to  go  to  work." 

"Commissioner's  orders,  my  boy.  I  am  not  to  reveal 
the  la  —  the  name  until  it  cannot  be  helped.  However, 
as  I  have  said  so  much,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  it's  a 
woman,  and  a  big  one  too." 

"  Big !     Fat,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

[183] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

**  No.     A  woman  of  high  position." 

"  Phew !    A  regular  society  scandal,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it." 

On  arrival  at  Sloane  Square  they  quickly  ascended  to 
No.  12  Raleigh  Mansions. 

A  stout,  elderly  woman  answered  their  knock,  and  a 
glance  at  her  face  revealed  the  map  of  Ireland,  although 
her  name  was  Saxon  Robinson. 

"  Mr.  Corbett  in  ?  "  inquired  White. 

"Faix,  he's  not." 

"Then  where  is  he?" 

"  I  don't  know,  misther,  an'  if  I  did  I  wouldn't  be  afther 
telling  when  axed  in  an  oncivil  manner." 

"All  right,  Mrs.—  " 

"  Robinson's  my  name,  if  that's  anny  use  to  ye." 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  Robinson.  We  wish  to  have  a  word 
with  Mr.  Corbett,  and  we  will  be  much  obliged  if  you  can 
tell  us  when  he  is  likely  to  return,  if  he  is  in  London." 

"Arrah,  it's  meself  is  mixed  intirely  about  him.  Sure 
this  Mr.  Corbett  is  in  London  right  enough,  and  is  comin' 
in  to  dinner  in  half-an-hour,  so  by  yer  lave  I'll  jist  go  on 
wid  me  wurruk." 

"  May  we  come  in  and  wait  for  him  ?  " 

Mrs.  Robinson  surveyed  them  suspiciously,  but  seem- 
ingly decided  in  their  favor. 

"  Stip  in  here,  gintlemen  both,"  she  said,  and  conducted 
them  to  the  sitting-room. 

A  fire  now  burned  brightly  in  the  grate  wherein  Bruce 
had  made  his  pregnant  discovery.  The  damaged  bracket 
still  stared  at  White,  so  to  speak,  but  he  saw  it  not. 

Mrs.  Robinson  bustled  away  to  the  kitchen,  and  the  two 
officers  sat  silently  waiting  developments.  Suddenly  a 
thought  occurred  to  White,  and  he  went  into  the' passage. 

[184] 


Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett 

M  Mrs.  Robinson,"  he  said,  "  what  did  you  mean  by  re- 
ferring to  this  Mr.  Corbett  ?  " 

A  quick  step  came  bounding  up  the  stairs,  and  a  key 
rattled  in  the  lock. 

"You'd  betther  ax  him  yerself,"  responded  the  house- 
keeper pithily,  and  the  door  opened  to  admit  a  handsome, 
well-knit  man,  tall  and  straight,  with  the  clearly  cut  fea- 
tures of  the  true  Westerner,  and  the  easy  carriage  of  one 
accustomed  to  the  freedom  of  the  prairie. 

He  was  quietly  dressed.  The  only  sign  that  he  was  not 
a  Londoner  was  given  by  his  wide-awake  felt  hat,  the  last 
token  of  environment  relinquished  by  a  wandering  citizen 
from  the  region  of  the  Rockies.  In  the  semi-darkness  of 
the  interior  he  could  but  dimly  discern  the  form  of  the 
detective  behind  the  ready-tongued  housekeeper. 

"There's  two  gintlemen  to  see  ye,  Misther  Corbett," 
said  she. 

"Well,  now,  that's  cu-rious,"  he  answered  cheerfully. 
"  I  can  only  see  one  of  you,  but  I'm  glad  to  have  you  call, 
stranger,  anyway.  Come  right  in.  Are  you  sent  by  my 
friend  to  kinder  cheer  me  up  ?  I  find  this  big  city  of  yours 
a  powerful  kind  of  tonic  after  Wyoming.  Come  right  in." 

Mr.  White  was  as  greatly  nonplussed  by  the  new- 
comer's attitude  as  by  his  flow  of  language. 

Within  the  drawing-room  Corbett  caught  sight  of  the 
second  detective.  "  Hello !  Here's  the  other  one.  Ve-ry 
glad  to  meet  you  both.  Now,  if  you'll  just  tell  me  your 
names  we'll  get  along  straight  away,  as  I  guess  you  know 
mine  all  right." 

The  man  was  genuinely  pleased  by  this  unexpected 
visit.  He  smilingly  pushed  towards  them  a  box  of  cigars, 
green  ones,  and  helped  himself  to  a  weed. 

"  My  name,"  said  the  detective,  "  is  Inspector  White,  of 

[185] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Scotland  Yard,  and  my  friend  here  accompanies  me  offi- 
cially." 

"  And  hasn't  he  got  a  name  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  it  doesn't  matter." 

"  Well,  if  it  doesn't  matter,  we  won't  quarrel.  I  guess 
you've  got  a  message  of  some  sort  for  me,  else  you  wouldn't 
trouble  to  climb  these  stairs.  Why  don't  you  have  el-e- 
vators  in  these  big  buildings  ?  " 

"As  I  said,"  began  Mr.  White,  "we  are  from  Scotland 
Yard." 

"That's  so.  I've  got  that  fixed  O.K.  Your  name  is 
I.  White,  from  Scotland  Yard.  I  don't  know  where  Scot- 
land Yard  is,  but  we'll  worry  along  without  the  geography 
of  it." 

"I  am  in  the  police.  My  title  is  Inspector.  It  is  not 
my  Christian  name.  Scotland  Yard  is  the  headquarters 
of  the  London  police." 

The  American's  eyes  opened  wide  in  wonder  at  this  an- 
nouncement, and  a  perplexing  thought  seemed  to  occur  to 
him.  But  he  said  quietly : 

"I'll  figure  it  out  better  when  you  tell  me  why  you've 
been  good  enough  to  call.  And  suppose  we  all  sit  down. 
I'm  not  used  to  stone  pavements.  I'm  tired." 

"  Your  name  is  Sydney  H.  Corbett  ?  "  said  the  detective 
severely,  though  he  took  a  chair. 

"  So  my  people  always  told  me." 

"And  you  have  occupied  these  chambers  since  August 
last?" 

"Havel?" 

"So  I  am  informed." 

"  Get  along  with  your  story." 

"You  have  just  returned  to  England  from  Wyoming. 

[186] 


Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett 

The  New  York  police  cabled  me  that  you  arrived  in  Liver- 
pool yesterday." 

"  Did  they  now  ?    That  was  real  cute  of  'em." 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,  in  the  first  instance,  the  exact  date 
of  your  departure  from  this  country." 

Before  replying  to  the  detective  Corbett  looked  at  him 
fixedly,  as  though  he  was  trying  to  read  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind. 

At  last  he  said  with  a  smile : 

"  Say,  what  are  you  after,  Mr.  White  of  Scotland  Yard  ? 
What's  the  game  ?  Who's  been  fooling  you  ?  " 

"That  is  not  the  way  to  talk  to  me,  sir.  Answer  my 
question  fully  and  properly,  or  it  may  be  worse  for  you." 

"  Jehosh !    Have  you  come  to  wipe  the  floor  with  me  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  reply  to  me  or  not  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  speak  square  to  any  man  who  comes 
along  and  puts  a  thing  like  you  do." 

"  Very  well.  I  can  get  my  information  by  other  means. 
You  leave  me  no  alternative  —  " 

Mr.  White  had  half  risen  and  was  about  to  add,  "  but 
to  arrest  you,"  when,  with  a  rapidity  known  only  to  those 
accustomed  to  "  draw  "  from  boyhood,  Corbett  whipped  a 
revolver  from  a  hip  pocket  and  covered  the  bridge  of 
White's  nose  with  the  muzzle. 

"  Just  you  sit  still,  right  there,  Mr.  White  of  Scotland 
Yard,  or  I  will  let  daylight  through  you  and  your  nameless 
friend  if  he  interferes.  You'd  better  believe  me.  By 
gad!  I  won't  speak  twice." 

Neither  White  nor  his  companion  were  cowards.  But 
they  were  quite  helpless.  They  had  not  grappled  with 
the  circumstances  with  sufficient  alertness,  and  they  were 
utterly  at  this  man's  mercy.  They  were  away  from  the 
door,  and  a  table  separated  them  from  Corbett,  while 

[187] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

there  was  that  in  his  eye  which  told  them  he  would  shoot 
if  either  of  them  moved.  They  both  sprang  to  their  feet, 
and  glared  at  him  impotently. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Corbett,  with  the  utmost  cool- 
ness, "let  me  persuade  you  to  sit  down  again  and  go  on 
with  your  story,  which  interests  me." 

White  was  scarlet  with  wrath  and  annoyance. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  —  "  he  roared. 

"Sit  down!" 

"  Make  the  best  of  it,  Jim,"  murmured  the  other  police- 
man ;  and  the  queer  gathering  resumed  their  seats. 

"That's  better,"  said  Corbett  genially.  "Now,  we'll 
have  a  nice  little  chat.  Am  I  correct  in  supposing  that 
you  were  about  to  march  me  off  to  jail  just  now,  when  I 
spoilt  the  proposition  ?  " 

"There's  no  use  in  resisting,"  growled  White.  "You 
cannot  escape.  If  you  have  an  atom  of  sense  left  you  will 
come  with  us  quietly,  as  it's  all  up  with  you." 

"  It  looks  like  it,"  said  Corbett,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  But 
if  it's  so  bad  a  case  as  all  that,  there's  no  desperate  hurry, 
is  there?" 

"You're  only  making  matters  more  difficult  for  your- 
self." 

"  Maybe.  But  as  I  happen  to  be  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  I  allow  that  I  can't  be  whipped  off  to  prison  just 
because  a  fool  like  you  thinks  it's  good  for  me.  I've  been  a 
law-abiding  man  all  my  life,  and  I've  lived  in  places  where 
each  man  made  his  own  law.  If  you  can  show  good  cause 
for  your  action,  I'll  stand  the  racket.  At  present  I  regard 
you  as  a  blamed  idiot." 

The  situation  overcame  the  detective.  He  could  only 
mutter: 

"Time  will  show  who's  the  idiot." 

[188] 


Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett 

"  I'm  getting  hungry,  Mr.  White  of  Scotland  Yard,  and 
I've  a  kind  of  notion  that  the  old  lady  is  ready  with  the 
eatables.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  say  what  you're 
after?" 

"  I  came  here  to  ask  you  to  account  for  your  movements, 
and,  failing  a  satisfactory  explanation,  to  arrest  you." 

"  On  what  charge  ?  " 

"For  being  concerned  in  the  murder  of  Lady  Dyke, 
on  or  about  November  6  last." 

"Lady  Dyke?" 

"Yes." 

"Arrest  me?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  placed  you  right  away.  You  are  a  blamed  idiot,  Mr. 
White  of  Scotland  Yard." 

This  repetition  of  his  name  and  address  goaded  the  de- 
tective almost  beyond  endurance. 

"Now  you  know  the  charge,"  he  shouted,  "are  you 
coming  with  us  quietly,  or  —  " 

"Or  what?" 

The  revolver  still  hovered  across  the  table. 

"  Are  we  going  to  sit  here  all  night  ?  " 

It  was  a  weak  conclusion,  but  to  suggest  an  attack  was 
sheer  madness  under  the  conditions. 

"  I  guess  not,"  was  the  calm  answer.  "  I  want  my  din- 
ner, and  I  mean  to  have  it." 

"Very  well.     Eat  your  dinner  and  have  done  with  it." 

"That's  better.  You  and  your  friend  shall  join  me. 
We'll  have  a  nice  little  talk  and  straighten  out  matters, 
which  have  got  kinder  mixed." 

This  was  too  much  for  White's  associate.  He  burst 
out  laughing. 

"I  allowed  there  was  a  joke  in  the  deal,  somewhere," 

[189] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

went  on  Corbett,  "  but  I  haven't  quite  got  the  hang  of  it 
yet.  Now,  Mr.  White  of  Scotland  Yard,  are  you  going  to 
act  like  a  reasonable  man,  or  must  I  keep  your  nose  in 
line  with  the  barrel  ?  " 

White  was  saved  from  deciding  which  horn  of  the  di- 
lemma he  would  land  on,  for  a  sharp  rat-tat  at  the  door 
induced  silence,  and  a  moment  later  Bruce's  voice  was 
heard  inquiring: 

"Is  Mr.  Corbett  in?" 

"Faix,  there  may  be  a  half-a-dozen  of  him  in  by  this 
time,"  cried  Mrs.  Robinson.  "  I  dunno  where  I  am,  at  all, 
at  all.  The  gintlemen  are  in  the  parlor,  sir." 

And  Bruce  entered. 

In  order  to  enfilade  the  new-comer  scientifically,  Cor- 
bett backed  to  the  corner.  Claude  glanced  at  the  three, 
saw  the  revolver,  and  said  with  a  comical  air  of  relief: 

"Thank  goodness,  nothing  has  happened.  Put  away 
your  pistol,  Mr.  Corbett;  you  will  not  need  it." 

Although  the  barrister's  manner  differed  considerably 
from  the  brusque  methods  adopted  by  Mr.  White,  the 
American  remained  on  his  guard.  He  said  stiffly: 

"You  all  seem  to  know  me  fairly  well;  but  if  you  had 
the  advantage  of  closer  acquaintance,  you  would  allow 
that  I  am  not  the  man  to  be  rushed  on  a  confidence  trick. 
If  somebody  doesn't  explain  quick  I  will  lose  my  temper, 
and  there  will  be  trouble." 

"  I  sympathize  with  you ! "  cried  Bruce.  "  But  the  first 
thing  you  must  learn  in  this  country  is  to  keep  dry  cigars 
for  your  visitors.  Our  respective  tastes  differ  in  that 
respect." 

"I  guess  I'll  cotton  to  you,  stranger;  but  I'm  tired  hold- 
ing this  pistol." 

[190] 


Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett 

"  Put  it  away,  then.  I  tell  you  it  is  not  wanted.  White, 
listen  to  me.  You  have  hit  upon  the  wrong  man." 

"Wrong  man!"  cried  the  detective,  feeling  more  con- 
fident in  the  barrister's  presence.  "  Why,  I've  had  a  cable 
about  him  from  New  York." 

"Possibly;  but  you're  mistaken,  nevertheless.  Mr. 
Corbett  has  not  been  within  five  thousand  miles  of  Eng- 
land for  years,  possibly  not  in  his  life." 

"  Bully  for  you,  stranger ! "  broke  in  Corbett. 

"Then  who  is  Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett  whom  you  be- 
lieve, as  well  as  I,  to  be  the  murderer  of  Lady  Dyke  ?  " 

"Steady,  White.  The  last  time  I  saw  you  I  appealed 
to  you  to  go  slow.  The  man  whom  you  want,  simply  be- 
cause he  happens  to  be  the  real  occupant  of  these  rooms, 
is  at  present  travelling  to  London  as  fast  he  can  from 
Florence,  and  his  sister,  Mrs.  Hillmer,  is  with  him." 

"Florence!  Mrs.  Hillmer!"  gasped  the  policeman. 
"  I've  just  arranged  to  have  her  watched  there." 

"Your  arrangements,  though  admirable,  are  somewhat 
late  in  the  day." 

"  Then  what  is  her  brother's  name  ?  " 

"Albert  Mensmore.  For  some  reason,  hidden  at  this 
moment,  he  lived  here  under  the  name  of  the  gentleman 
who  has,  I  see,  been  giving  you  a  practical  lesson  in  the 
art  of  not  jumping  at  conclusions." 

"  Have  you  known  this  long  ?  " 

"For  some  weeks." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?" 

"Because  I  have  no  definite  reason  for  connecting 
Mensraore  with  Lady  Dyke's  death.  If  I  had,  his  action 
in  returning  to  London  the  moment  he  hears  of  the  charge 
would  shake  my  belief." 

"Who  told  him?" 

[191] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Mrs.  Hillmer." 

"  Oh,  this  business  is  quite  beyond  me.  I  can't  fathom 
it  a  little  bit." 

And  White  sank  dejectedly  to  his  chair  again. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,  gentlemen," 
said  Corbett,  pocketing  his  revolver;  "but  it  dawns  upon 
me  that  I  shan't  be  required  to  shoot  anybody  or  sleep  in 
jail  to-night." 

"Why  didn't  you  answer  my  questions  properly,  and 
save  all  this  nonsense  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  why,  sir.  The  name  of  a  friend  of  mine 
has  been  mentioned.  Albert  Mensmore  has  been  more 
than  a  brother  to  me.  I  allowed  you  meant  mischief  to 
him,  as  you  thought  you  were  talking  to  him  all  the  time. 
I  don't  know  much  about  you,  but  I  hope  that  your  first 
action  would  not  be  to  give  away  your  chum  if  he  is  in 
trouble." 

The  detective  did  not  answer,  though  his  look  of  aston- 
ishment at  Corbett's  declaration  of  motive  was  eloquent 
enough. 

"Before  we  quit  this  business,"  went  on  the  American, 
"let  me  say  one  thing.  Any  man  who  tells  you  that  Albert 
Mensmore  murdered  a  woman  is  telling  you  a  lie.  I  don't 
know  anything  about  this  Lady  Dyke,  or  how  she  may 
have  died,  but  I  do  know  my  friend.  He's  good  in  a  tight 
place,  but,  to  think  of  him  killing  a  woman  —  Jehosh, 
it's  sickening." 

Mrs.  Robinson  burst  in,  with  face  aflame. 

"Is  this  palaverin'  to  go  on  all  night?"  she  demanded 
angrily.  "Here's  the  dinner  sphilin',  after  all  me  worry 
and  bother,  with  the  head  of  me  vexed  to  know  who  is  the 
masther  and  who  ishn't." 

[192] 


Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett 

"All  right,  mother,"  laughed  Corbett.  "Bring  in  the 
whole  caboodle." 

"Mr.  Corbett,"  said  Bruce,  "I  hope  you  will  come  and 
have  lunch  with  me  to-morrow,  at  this  address,"  handing 
him  a  card.  "  I  want  to  have  a  long  talk  with  you.  Mr. 
White,  if  you  come  with  me  I  will  explain  a  good  deal  to 
you  of  which  you  are  now  in  ignorance." 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Corbett  will  answer  a  few  questions  first," 
said  the  detective. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  have  troubled  him  sufficiently  for 
this  evening?  Besides,  he  can  tell  us  nothing.  All  the 
explanation  is  really  due  to  him,  and  I  propose  to  give  it 
to  him  tomorrow.  Come,  White,  this  time  I  promise  you 
that  a  considerable  portion  of  your  inquiry  shall  be  cleared 
up,  and  I  do  not  speak  without  foundation,  as  you  have 
often  learned  hitherto." 

So  the  mysterious  Sydney  H.  Corbett  was  left  in  undis- 
turbed possession  of  his  flat  and  his  dinner,  while  the  trio 
passed  out  into  the  quietude  of  the  streets. 


[193] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HOW  LADY  DYKE  LEFT   RALEIGH 
MANSIONS 

MR.  WHITE  was  actually  inclined  to  preserve  silence 
while  they  walked  to  Victoria  Street.  The  events  of  the 
preceding  hour  had  not  exactly  conduced  to  the  main- 
tenance, in  the  eyes  of  his  brother  officer,  of  that  pre- 
eminent sagacity  which  he  invariably  claimed. 

His  companion  rubbed  in  this  phase  of  the  matter  by 
saying :  "  I  should  think,  Jim,  you  will  give  Raleigh  Man- 
sions wide  berth  for  some  time  to  come,  after  making  two 
bad  breaks  there." 

But  it  was  no  part  of  Bruce's  scheme  that  the  detective 
should  be  rendered  desperate  by  repeated  failures.  "It 
is  not  Mr.  White's  fault,"  he  said,  "that  these  errors  have 
occurred.  They  are  rather  the  result  of  his  pertinacity  in 
leaving  no  clue  unsolved  which  promises  to  lead  to  success. 
When  this  case  ends,  if  ever  it  does  end,  I  feel  sure  he  will 
admit  that  he  has  never  before  encountered  so  much  diffi- 
culty in  unravelling  the  most  complex  problems  within  his 
experience." 

"That  is  so,"  chimed  in  the  senior  detective.  "The 
thing  that  beats  me  in  this  affair  is  the  want  of  a  beginning, 
so  to  speak.  One  would  imagine  it  the  work  of  a  lunatic 
if  Lady  Dyke  herself  had  not  contributed  so  curiously  to 
the  mystery  of  her  disappearance." 

[194] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Left  Raleigh  Mansions 

"There  you  are,  White;  that  is  the  true  scent.  Find 
the  motive  and  we  find  the  murderer,  if  Lady  Dyke  was 
wilfully  put  to  death." 

"//  she  was,  Mr.  Bruce?  Have  you  any  doubt  about 
it?" 

"  There  cannot  be  certainty  when  we  are  groping  in  the 
dark.  But  the  gloom  is  passing;  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a 
discovery." 

At  Bruce's  residence  White's  colleague  left  him.  Soon 
the  barrister  and  the  policeman  were  sitting  snugly  before 
a  good  fire. 

There  Claude  took  him  step  by  step  through  each 
branch  of  his  inquiry  as  it  is  known  to  the  reader. 

He  omitted  nothing.  The  discovery  of  Jane  Harding 
and  of  Mensmore,  the  latter's  transactions  with  Dodge  & 
Co.,  his  dramatic  coup  at  Monte  Carlo  and  its  attendant 
love  episode  —  all  these  were  exhaustively  described.  He 
enlarged  upon  Mrs.  Hillmer's  anxiety  when  the  tragedy 
became  known  to  her,  and  did  not  forget  Sir  Charles 
Dyke's  amazement  at  the  suggestion  that  his  old  play- 
mate might  prove  to  be  responsible  for  the  death  of  his 
wife. 

He  produced  the  waxen  moulds  of  the  piece  of  iron 
found  on  the  body  at  Putney,  and  the  ornamental  scroll 
from  which  it  had  been  taken. 

At  this  bit  of  evidence  Mr.  White's  complacency  for- 
sook him.  Thus  far  he  had  experienced  a  feeling  of  re- 
sentment against  Bruce  for  having  concealed  from  him  so 
much  that  was  material  to  their  investigation. 

But  when  he  realized  that  a  powerful  link  in  the  chain  of 
events  had  all  along  been  placidly  resting  before  his  eyes 
his  distress  was  evident,  and  the  barrister  came  to  his 
rescue. 

[195] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"You  are  not  to  blame,  White,"  he  said,  "for  having 
failed  to  note  many  things  which  I  have  now  told  you. 
You  are  the  slave  of  a  system.  Your  method  works  ad- 
mirably for  the  detection  of  commonplace  crime,  but  as 
soon  as  the  higher  region  of  romance  is  reached  it  is  as 
much  out  of  place  as  a  steam-roller  in  a  lady's  boudoir. 
Look  at  the  remarkable  series  of  crimes  the  English  police 
have  failed  to  solve  of  late,  merely  because  some  bizarre 
element  had  intruded  itself  at  the  outset.  Have  you  ever 
read  any  of  the  works  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe  ?  " 

The  detective  answered  in  the  affirmative.  "The  Mur- 
ders of  the  Rue  Morgue "  and  "  The  Mystery  of  Marie 
Roget "  were  familiar  to  him. 

"Well,"  went  on  Bruce,  "there  you  have  the  accurate 
samples  of  my  meaning.  Poe  would  not  have  been  puz- 
zled for  an  hour  by  the  vagaries  of  Jack  the  Ripper.  He 
would  have  said  at  once  —  most  certainly  after  the  third 
or  fourth  in  the  series  of  murders  —  '  This  is  the  work  of  an 
athletic  lunatic,  with  a  morbid  love  of  anatomy  and  a  mor- 
bid hatred  of  a  certain  class  of  women.  Seek  for  him 
among  young  men  who  have  pestered  doctors  with  out- 
rageous theories,  and  who  possess  weak-minded  or  im- 
becile relatives.'  Then,  again,  take  the  murder  on  the 
South- Western  Railway.  Do  you  think  Poe  would  have 
gone  questioning  bar-tenders  or  inquiring  into  abortive 
love  affairs?  Not  he!  Jealous  swains  do  not  carry 
pestles  about  with  them  to  slay  their  sweethearts,  nor  do 
they  choose  a  four-minutes'  interval  between  suburban 
stations  for  frenzied  avowals  of  their  passion.  Here  you 
have  the  clear  trail  of  a  clever  lunatic,  dropping  from  the 
skies,  as  it  were,  and  disappearing  in  the  same  erratic 
manner.  That  is  why  I  tell  you  most  emphatically  that 

[196] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Left  Raleigh  Mansions 

neither  you  nor  I  have  yet  the  remotest  conception  as  to 
.who  really  killed  Lady  Dyke." 

"  Surely  things  look  black  now  against  this  Mensmore  ?  " 

"  Do  they  ?  How  would  it  have  fared  with  an  acquaint- 
ance of  one  of  the  unfortunate  women  killed  by  Jack  the 
Ripper  had  the  police  found  him  in  the  locality  with  fresh 
blood-stains  on  his  clothes?  What  would  have  resulted 
from  the  discovery  of  a  chemist's  mortar  among  the  pos- 
sessions of  one  of  Elizabeth  Camp's  male  friends  ?  Come 
now,  be  honest,  and  tell  me." 

But  Mr.  White  could  only  smoke  in  silence. 

"Therefore,"  continued  Bruce,  "let  us  ask  ourselves 
why,  and  how,  it  was  possible  for  Mensmore  to  commit  the 
crime.  Personally,  notwithstanding  all  that  we  apparently 
know  against  him  circumstantially,  I  should  hardly  be- 
lieve Mensmore  if  he  confessed  himself  to  be  the  mur- 
derer!" 

"  Now,  why  on  earth  do  you  say  that,  Mr.  Bruce  ?  " 

"  Because  Mensmore  is  normal  and  this  crime  abnormal. 
Because  the  man  who  would  blow  out  his  brains  on  ac- 
count of  losses  at  pigeon-shooting  never  had  brains  enough 
to  dispose  of  the  body  in  such  fashion.  Because  Mens- 
more, having  temporarily  changed  his  name  for  some 
trivial  reason,  would  never  resume  it  with  equal  triviality 
with  this  shadow  upon  his  life." 

"  Then  why  have  you  told  me  all  these  things  that  tell  so 
heavily  against  him  ?  " 

"  In  order  that,  this  time  at  least,  you  may  feel  that  the 
production  of  a  pair  of  handcuffs  does  not  satisfactorily 
settle  the  entire  business." 

"I  promise  there  shall  be  no  more  arrests  until  this 
affair  is  much  more  decided  than  it  is  at  present." 

[197] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Good.  I  shall  make  a  detective  of  you  after  my  own 
heart  in  time." 

"Yet  I  cannot  help  being  surprised  at  the  very  strange 
fact  that  his  own  sister  should  seem  to  suspect  him ! " 

"Ah!  Now  you  have  struck  the  true  line.  Why  did 
she  have  that  fear  ?  There  I  am  with  you  entirely.  Let 
us  ascertain  that  and  I  promise  you  an  important  develop- 
ment. Mrs.  Hillmer  and  Mensmore  are  both  concerned 
in  the  disappearance  of  Lady  Dyke,  yet  neither  knew  that 
she  had  disappeared,  and  both  are  deeply  upset  by  it,  for 
Mrs.  Hillmer  flies  off  to  warn  her  brother,  and  the  brother 
posts  back  to  London  the  moment  it  comes  to  his  ears 
through  her.  There,  you  see,  we  have  a  key  which  may 
unlock  many  doors.  For  Heaven's  sake  let  it  not  be  bat- 
tered out  of  shape  the  instant  it  reaches  our  hands." 

But  Mr.  White  was  quite  humble.  "As  I  have  told 
you,"  he  said,  "I  have  done  with  the  battering  process." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  And  now  listen  to  the  most  remarkable 
fact  that  has  yet  come  to  light.  Lady  Dyke's  body  was 
taken  from  Raleigh  Mansions  to  Putney  in  a  four-wheeler. 
The  cabman  was  forthwith  locked  up  by  the  police  and 
clapped  into  prison  for  three  months.  He  was  released 
yesterday,  and  will  be  here  within  the  next  quarter  of  an 
hour." 

The  detective's  hair  nearly  rose  on  end  at  this  statement. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Bruce ! "  he  cried,  "  have  you  any  more 
startlers  up  your  sleeve,  or  is  that  the  finish  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  last  shot  in  my  locker." 

"I'm  jolly  glad!  I  half  expected  the  next  thing  you 
would  say  was  that  you  did  the  job  yourself." 

"It  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  you  thought  that;  eh,  my 
friend?" 

White  positively  blushed. 

[198] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Left  Raleigh  Mansions 

"  Oh !  that's  chaff,"  he  said.  "  But  why  the  dickens  did 
the  police  lock  up  this  cabman  —  the  only  witness  we 
could  lay  our  hands  upon  ?  Why,  I  myself  questioned 
every  cabman  in  the  vicinity  several  times." 

"  Because  he  got  drunk  on  the  proceeds  of  the  journey, 
and  subsequently  thought  he  was  Phaeton  driving  the 
chariot  of  the  sun.  But,  there,  he  will  tell  you  himself. 
I  met  him  yesterday  morning  outside  Holloway  Jail,  and 
persuaded  him  to  come  here  tonight,  provided  he  has  not 
gone  on  the  spree  again  with  disastrous  results." 

The  entrance  of  Smith  —  obviously  relieved  to  see  his 
master  and  the  "  tec  "  on  such  good  terms  —  to  announce 
the  arrival  of  "Mr.  William  Marsh,"  settled  any  doubts 
as  to  the  cabman's  intentions,  and  his  appearance  estab- 
lished the  fact  of  his  sobriety.  Three  months  "hard" 
had  made  the  cab-driver  a  new  man. 

Recognition  was  mutual  between  him  and  Mr.  White. 

"  Hello,  Foxey,"  cried  the  latter.     "  It's  you,  is  it  ?  " 

"Me  it  is,  guv' nor;  but  I  didn't  know  there  was  to  be  a 
'  cop  *  here  "  — this  with  a  suspicious  glance  at  Bruce  and  a 
backward  movement  towards  the  door. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  the  barrister;  "this  gentle- 
man's presence  implies  no  trouble  for  you.  We  want  you 
to  help  us,  and  if  you  do  so  willingly  I  will  make  up  that 
lost  fiver  you  received  for  driving  two  people  to  Putney  the 
night  you  were  arrested." 

The  poor  old  cabman  became  very  confused  on  hearing 
this  staggering  remark.  Up  to  that  moment  he  regarded 
Bruce  as  the  agent  for  a  charitable  association,  and  there 
was  no  harm,  he  told  his  "missus,"  in  trying  to  "knock 
him  for  a  bit." 

He  stood  nervously  fumbling  with  his  hat,  but  did  not 
answer.  White  knew  how  to  deal  with  him. 

[199] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Sit  down,  Foxey,  and  have  a  drink.  You  need  one  to 
cheer  you  up.  Answer  this  gentleman's  questions.  He 
means  you  no  harm  " 

"  Honor  bright  ?  " 

"  Honor  bright/' 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do.  No  soda,  thank  you, 
sir.  Just  a  small  drop  of  water.  Ah,  that's  better 
stuff  'n  they  keep  in  Holloway." 

Thus  fortified,  Marsh  had  no  hesitation  in  telling 
them  what  he  knew.  Substantially,  his  story  was  identi- 
cal with  the  version  given  to  Bruce  by  the  ticket  collector. 

"  Can  you  describe  the  gentleman  ?  "  said  the  barrister. 

"No,  sir.  He  was  just  like  any  other  swell.  Tall  and 
well-dressed,  and  talked  in  the  'aw-' aw  style.  It  might 
ha'  been  yerself  for  all  I  could  tell." 

"Do  you  think  it  was  I?" 

Foxey  scratched  his  head. 

"No,  p'r'aps  it  wasn't,  now  I  come  to  rec'llect.  He  'ad 
a  moustache,  and  you  'aven't.  Beggin'  yer  pardon,  sir, 
but  you  'ave  a  bit  of  the  cut  of  a  parson  or  a  hactor,  an' 
this  chap  wasn't  neither — just  an  every-day  sort  of  toff." 

"Could  you  swear  to  him  if  you  saw  him?" 

"  That  I  couldn't,  sir.  I  am  a  rare  'and  at  langwidge, 
but  I  couldn't  manage  that." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  that  night,  sir,  I  were  as  full  as  a  tick  when  I 
started.  Lord  love  you,  it  must  'ave  poured  out  of  me 
afterwards  when  I  started  fightin'  coppers.  Mr.  White, 
'e  knows,  I  ain't  no  fightin'  man  as  a  rule." 

"And  the  lady?     Did  you  see  her?" 

"No,  sir.  Leastways,  I  seed  a  bundle  which  I  took  to 
be  a  lydy,  but  her  face  was  covered  up  with  a  shawl,  and 

[200] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Left  Raleigh  Mansions 

she  was  lyin'  'eavy  in  'is  arms  as  though  she  was  mortal 
bad  He  tell'd  me  she  was  sick." 

"  Did  he  ?    Anything  else  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  was  a  shawl  ?  " 

A  vacuous  smile  spread  over  Foxey's  countenance  as  he 
answered,  "I  ain't  sure  of  anythink  that  'appened  that 
night." 

"But  were  you  not  surprised  when  a  man  hired  your 
cab  under  such  peculiar  circumstances,  and  paid  you  such 
a  high  fare  ?  " 

"We  four-wheelers  are  surprised  at  nothink,  sir.  You 
don't  know  all  wot  goes  on  in  kebs.  Why,  once  crossin' 
Waterloo  Bridge  —  " 

"  Never  mind  Waterloo  Bridge,  Foxey,"  put  in  the  de- 
tective. "  Keep  your  wits  fixed  on  as  much  as  you  can  re- 
member of  November  6." 

"  Where  did  he  tell  you  to  drive  to  ?  "  went  on  Bruce. 

"  Just  Putney.  I  was  to  drive  my  'ardest.  I  recollect 
wantin'  to  pull  up  at  the  Three  Bells,  but  'e  put  'is  'ead  out 
an'  said,  *  Go  on,  driver.  I  am  awfully  late  already.'  So 
on  I  went." 

"  Where  did  you  stop  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  no  more  than  the  child  unborn.  By  that 
time  the  drink  was  yeastin'  up  in  me.  The  fare  kept  me 
on  the  road  'e  wanted  by  shoutin'.  When  we  pulled  up, 
'e  carries  'er  into  a  lane.  There  was  a  big  'ouse  there. 
I  know  that  all  right.  After  a  bit  'e  comes  back  and  tips 
me  a  fiver.  With  that  I  whips  up  the  old  'oss  and  gets 
back  to  the  Three  Bells.  You  know  the  rest,  as  the  girl 
said  when  she  axed  the  Bench  to  —  " 

"Yes,  we  know  the  rest,"  interrupted  Bruce,  "but  I 
fear  you  are  not  able  to  help  us  much." 

[201] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"This  isn't  a  five-pun'  job,  eh,  guv'nor?"  said  Foxey 
anxiously. 

"Hardly  at  present.  We  shall  see.  Can  you  say 
exactly  where  you  drew  up  your  cab  when  the  lady  was 
carried  into  it  ?  " 

"  Sure  as  death,"  replied  the  cabman,  in  the  hope  that 
his  information  might  yet  be  valuable.  "It  was  outside 
Raleigh  Mansions,  Sloaiie  Square." 

" We  know  that— " 

"  It  seems  to  me,  sir,  as  ye  know  as  much  about  the  busi- 
ness as  I  do,"  broke  in  Marsh. 

"  Were  you  in  the  Square  or  in  Sloane  Street  ?  " 

"In  Sloane  Street,  of  course.  Right  away  from  the 
Square." 

"  Not  so  very  far  away,  surely." 

Foxey  was  doubtful.  His  memory  was  hazy,  and  he 
feared  lest  he  should  be  mistaken.  "No,  no,"  he  said 
quickly,  "  not  far,  but  still  well  in  the  street." 

"  Were  there  many  people  about  ?  " 

"You  could  'ardly  tell,  sir;  it  was  that  foggy  and  nasty. 
If  the  lydy  'ad  bin  dead  nobody  would  'ave  noticed  'er 
that  night." 

"  Did  any  one  besides  yourself  see  the  gentleman  carry- 
ing the  lady  into  the  cab  ?  " 

"I  think  not.  I  don't  remember  anybody  passin'  at 
the  time." 

"Did  the  gentleman  keep  your  cab  waiting  long  at  the 
kerb  before  he  brought  the  lady  out  ?  " 

"  It  might  'a'  bin  a  minute  or  two  ?  " 

"No  longer?" 

"Well,  sir,  it's  'ard  for  me  to  say,  especially  after  bein' 
away  for  a  change  of  'ealth,  so  to  speak." 

"  Did  not  the  lady  speak  or  move  in  any  manner  ?  " 

[202] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Left  Raleigh  Mansions 

"  Not  so  far  as  I  know,  sir." 

"And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that,  although  you  had 
been  drinking,  you  were  not  astonished  at  the  whole  busi- 
ness ?  " 

"I  never  axes  my  fares  any  questions  'cept  when  they 
says  *  By  the  hour.'  Then  I  wants  to  know  a  bit." 

"Yes;  but  this  carrying  of  a  lady  out  of  a  house  in  such 
fashion  —  did  not  this  strike  you  as  strange  ?  " 

"Strange,  bless  your  'eart,  sir.  You  ought  to  see  me 
cartin'  'em  off  from  the  Daffodil  Club  after  a  big  night  — 
three  and  four  in  one  keb,  all  blind,  paralytic." 

"No  doubt;  but  this  was  not  the  Daffodil  Club  at  day- 
break. It  was  a  respectable  neighborhood  at  seven 
o'clock,  or  thereabouts,  on  a  winter's  evening." 

"It  ain't  my  fault,"  said  Foxey  doggedly.  "Wot  was 
wrong  with  the  lydy  ?  Was  it  a  habduction  ?  " 

"The  lady  was  dead  —  murdered,  we  believe." 

The  cabman's  face  grew  livid  with  anxiety. 

"Oh,  crikey,  Mr.  White,"  he  cried,  addressing  the  de- 
tective, "I  knew  nothink  about  it." 

"  No  one  says  you  did,  Foxey,"  was  the  reply.  "  Don't 
be  frightened.  We  just  want  you  to  help  us  as  far  as  you 
can,  and  not  to  get  skeered  and  lose  your  wits." 

Thus  reassured,  Marsh  mopped  his  head  and  said 
solemnly: 

"  I  will  do  wot  lies  in  my  power,  gentlemen  both,  but  I 
wish  I  'adn't  bin  so  blamed  drunk  that  night." 

"  You  say  you  would  not  recognize  your  fare  if  you  saw 
him,"  continued  Bruce.  "  Could  you  tell  us,  if  you  were 
shown  a  certain  person,  that  he  was  not  the  man  ?  You 
might  not  be  sure  of  the  right  man,  but  you  might  be  sure 
regarding  the  wrong  one." 

"Yes,  sir.     It  wasn't  you,  and  it  wasn't  Mr.  White,  and 

[203] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

it  wasn't  a  lot  of  other  people  I  know.  I  think  if  I  saw 
the  man  who  really  got  into  my  keb,  I  would  be  able  to 
swear  that  'e  was  like  him,  at  any  rate." 

"All  right.  That  will  do  for  the  present.  Leave  us 
your  address,  so  that  we  may  find  you  again  if  necessary. 
Here  is  a  sovereign  for  you." 

When  Marsh  had  gone,  Bruce  turned  to  the  detective. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  Mensmore  were  here  now,  I  sup- 
pose you  would  want  to  lock  him  up." 

"No,"  admitted  White  sadly;  "the  more  I  learn  about 
this  affair  the  more  mixed  it  becomes.  Still,  I  don't  deny 
but  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  Mensmore's  explanation  of  his 
movements  at  that  time.  And  so  will  you,  Mr.  Bruce." 


[204] 


CHAPTER  XXII 
A  WILFUL  MURDER 

BRUCE  sent  a  telegram  to  Mrs.  Hillmer  at  Paris.  "  Mat- 
ters satisfactorily  arranged  pending  your  arrival,"  he 
wired,  and  early  on  Monday  morning  he  received  a  reply : 

"Due  Charing  Cross  7.30  P.M.  Will  drive  straight  to 
your  chambers  with  my  brother. 

"GWENDOLINE  HILLMER." 

He  forwarded  the  message  with  a  note  to  the  detective, 
asking  him  to  be  present. 

About  one  o'clock  Corbett  turned  up. 

"  Guess  I  slept  well  last  night  after  the  excitement,"  he 
said,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "  You  seemed  to  skeer  those 
chaps  more  with  a  few  words,  Mr.  Bruce,  than  I  did  with 
a  revolver." 

"  The  English  police  are  not  so  much  afraid  of  revolvers 
as  they  are  of  making  mistakes,"  was  the  answer. 

"Now,  is  that  so?  On  our  side  they  wouldn't  have 
stopped  to  argy.  Both  of  'em  would  have  drawn  on  me 
at  once." 

"Then  I  am  glad,  for  everybody's  sake,  Mr.  Corbett, 
that  the  affair  happened  in  London." 

"Why,  sure.  But  tell  me.  Has  my  friend  Mensmore 
been  getting  himself  into  trouble  ?  " 

"Not  so  much  as  it  looks.     Others  appear  to  have  in- 

[205] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

volved  him  without  his  knowledge,  and  he  has  lent  color 
to  the  accusations  by  involuntary  actions  of  a  suspicious 
nature." 

"Well,  if  it  is  permissible,  I  should  like  to  hear  the 
straight  story." 

Under  the  circumstances,  Bruce  thought  that  this 
stranger  from  America  had  a  right  to  know  why  he  was  in 
danger  of  being  arrested  during  his  first  twenty-four  hours' 
residence  in  the  country,  so  he  gave  him  a  succinct  narra- 
tive of  the  prima  facie  case  against  Mensmore. 

Corbett  listened  in  silence  to  the  recital.  When  it 
ended  he  said: 

"  Mr.  Bruce,  my  friend  was  incapable  of  murdering  any 
woman.  He  was  equally  incapable  of  conducting  any 
discreditable  liaison  with  any  woman.  I  have  known  him 
for  years,  and  a  straighter,  truer,  more  honorable  man  I 
never  met.  I  don't  know  what  his  reason  was  for  assum- 
ing my  name,  which  he  undoubtedly  did,  as  the  agent 
called  this  morning,  and  I  find  the  flat  is  taken  in  my 
name." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"  Oh,  just  that  Mensmore  had  acted  for  me.  The  man 
seemed  a  bit  puzzled,  but  he  didn't  kick  when  I  offered  to 
pay  up  the  rent  owing  since  Christmas,  and  another  quarter 
in  advance." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  did.     The  rent  was  due,  then  ?  " 

"Yes.  It  seems  that  Mensmore,  writing  in  my  name, 
sent  a  letter  from  Monte  Carlo  a  month  ago,  saying  he 
would  return  about  this  time  and  settle  up." 

"Thus  proving  his  intention  all  along  to  come  back  to 
London.  It  is  a  queer  muddle,  Mr.  Corbett,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"Very;  but  you  will  pardon  me,  as  an  outsider,  saying 
one  thing — you  all  appear  to  have  overlooked  a  clear  trail." 

[206] 


A  Wilful  Murder 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"What  about  Mrs.  Hillmer?  Who  is  she?  Who  are 
her  friends  ?  Who  maintains  her  in  such  style  ?  Bertie 
was  with  me  four  years  and  never  mentioned  her  name. 
She  could  not  have  been  rich  by  inheritance,  as  it  was  on 
account  of  their  father  going  broke  that  Mensmore  had  to 
leave  the  Army  and  come  to  the  States.  It  strikes  me, 
Mr.  Bruce,  that  the  woman  knows  more  about  this  affair 
than  the  man." 

"You  may  be  right.  But  do  not  forget  the  absolute 
proofs  we  possess  that  the  crime  occurred  in  Mensmore's 
chambers,  and  the  extraordinary  coincidence  that  he  left 
England  immediately  afterwards." 

"I  am  not  forgetting  anything.  Those  facts  tell  both 
ways.  Just  because  he  quitted  the  country  at  the  time 
somebody  may  have  tried  to  throw  the  blame  on  him." 

The  theory  was  plausible,  though  Bruce  could  not  ac- 
cept it.  Nevertheless,  after  Corbett  had  taken  his  de- 
parture he  could  not  help  thinking  about  his  references  to 
Mrs.  Hilhner.  That  there  was  force  hi  them  he  could  not 
deny,  and  with  the  admission  came  the  unpleasant  thought 
that  perhaps  he,  Bruce,  was  hi  some  sense  responsible  for 
the  neglect  to  clear  up  her  antecedents. 

However,  a  few  hours  might  explain  much. 

With  unwonted  impatience  the  barrister  awaited  the 
coming  of  night.  He  tried  every  expedient  to  kill  time, 
and  found  each  operation  tedious. 

He  dined  early,  and  as  half-past  seven  came  and  passed 
he  wondered  why  the  detective  did  not  appear. 

But  his  doubts  on  this  point  did  not  last  long. 

"White  is  looking  at  Charing  Cross  to  make  sure  of 
their  arrival,"  he  said  to  himself. 

At  ten  minutes  to  eight  the  detective  came  in  hurriedly. 

[207] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"They  will  be  here  directly,"  he  announced.  "A  ser- 
vant has  taken  their  luggage  to  Mrs.  Hillmer's  place,  and 
they  are  evidently  driving  straight  here  after  taking  some 
refreshment  at  the  station." 

"  Have  you  no  faith  in  human  nature,  Mr.  White  ? 
Could  you  not  trust  their  words  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  my  experience  of  human  nature  is  that  you 
can  very  seldom  trust  anybody's  word." 

At  last  Smith  announced  Mrs.  Hillmer  and  Mr.  Mens- 
more. 

When  they  entered  Bruce  was  for  the  moment  at  a  loss 
to  know  exactly  how  to  receive  them. 

But  Mrs.  Hillmer  settled  the  matter  by  greeting  him 
with  a  quiet  "  Good-evening,"  and  seating  herself.  Mens- 
more  stood  near  the  door,  very  pale  and  stern-looking. 

"  It  appears,  Mr.  Bruce,"  he  said,  "  that  we  met  in  Monte 
Carlo  under  false  pretences.  You  were,  it  seems,  a  de- 
tective on  the  track  of  a  murderer,  and  you  were  good 
enough  to  believe  that  I  was  the  person  you  sought.  It 
would  have  saved  some  misconception  on  my  part  had 
you  explained  our  roles  earlier.  However,  I  am  here,  to 
meet  the  charge." 

Claude  was  not  unprepared  for  this  attitude  on  Mens- 
more's  part.  But  he  was  determined  that  it  should  not 
continue  if  he  could  help  it. 

''When  we  parted  at  Monte  Carlo,  Mensmore,"  he 
said,  "  we  parted  as  friends." 

"Yes." 

"Then  tell  me  what  has  happened  since  to  cause  this 
obvious  change  in  your  opinion  of  me  ?  " 

"  Is  it  not  true  that  you  suspect  me  of  murdering  Lady 
Dyke?" 

"No." 

F208] 


A  Wilful  Murder 

"  But  why  has  my  sister  been  told  that  I  ran  serious  risk 
of  being  apprehended  on  that  account  ?  " 

"Because  we  certainly  did  suspect  a  mysterious  per- 
sonage who  called  himself  Sydney  H.  Corbett,  and  whose 
behavior  was  so  unaccountable  that  the  authorities  re- 
quired a  reasonable  explanation  of  it." 

"Do  I  understand,  Bruce,  that  we  meet  with  no  more 
suspicion  between  us  than  when  we  last  saw  each  other  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly." 

"Then  I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  manner  and  words. 
I  have  suffered  keenly  during  the  last  three  days  from  this 
cruel  thought.  Let  us  shake  hands  on  it." 

As  their  hands  met  they  both  heard  Mrs.  Hillmer  stifle 
a  sob.  Mensmore  turned  to  her. 

"Now,  Gwen,"  he  said,  "don't  be  foolish.  We  will 
soon  clear  up  this  miserable  business.  So  far  as  we  are 
concerned,  all  we  need  to  do  is  to  tell  the  truth  and  fear 
nobody." 

"That's  it,"  said  White.  "If  you  adopt  that  course 
the  matter  will  "soon  he  ended." 

Mensmore  turned  to  the  speaker.  He  guessed  his 
identity,  but  Bruce  introduced  the  detective  by  name. 

"Well,"  said  Mensmore,  "I  have  come  here  to  answer 
questions.  What  is  it  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

Mr.  White  glanced  at  the  barrister,  and  the  other  ex- 
plained. 

"  I  have,  as  you  may  already  realize,  taken  more  than  a 
passive  interest  in  this  inquiry,  so  the  questioning  largely 
devolves  on  me.  First,  tell  me  why  you  adopted  the  name 
of  Corbett  ?" 

"  Simply  enough,  though  stupid,  I  now  admit.  When  I 
returned  from  the  States  I  was  very  hard  up,  but  managed 
to  pick  up  a  subsistence  by  writing  for  the  sporting  press, 

[209] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

and  occasionally  backing  horses.  But  I  knew  this  could 
not  last,  so  I  tried  to  secure  some  financial  interests  in  the 
City.  In  doing  so  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  man 
named  Dodge,  and  committed  myself  to  the  underwriting 
of  a  new  venture  named  the  Springbok  Mine.  This  fell 
through  at  the  time,  and  with  this  collapse  came  other 
demands.  I  hate  being  worried  by  creditors,  so  when  my 
sister  offered  to  take  and  furnish  a  flat  for  me,  near  her 
own,  I  thought  I  would  live  quietly  for  a  time  and  conceal 
my  name  so  as  to  have  peace  there  at  any  rate.  Therefore, 
I  assumed  the  name  of  a  friend  in  America,  little  thinking 
that  I  should  land  both  him  and  myself  into  such  trouble 
by  doing  it.  That  is  the  explanation,  By  the  way,  what 
has  happened  to  Corbett  ?  " 

"  He  is  all  right.  He  expects  to  see  you  to-night.  You 
know  Sir  Charles  Dyke,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Intimately?" 

"Well,  no,  not  exactly.  He  and  I  were  at  school  to- 
gether at  Brighton,  at  Childe's  place." 

"At  Brighton?" 

"Yes.  I  was  a  little  chap  when  Dyke  was  a  senior. 
After  he  left,  the  headmaster  changed  the  school  to  a  place 
called  Seton  Lodge,  at  Putney,  on  account  of  cramming 
operations  for  Army  exams." 

"  Then  you  were  at  Putney  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  two  years." 

"And  Dyke  was  not?" 

"  No;  that  I  am  sure  of." 

"  Have  you  and  Sir  Charles  been  friendly  since  ? " 

Mensmore's  face  hardened  somewhat  as  he  answered, 
"  I  have  seen  very  little  of  him,  and  hardly  ever  spoken  to 
him." 

[210] 


A  Wilful  Murder 

"  Why  ?     Did  you  quarrel  ?  " 

"N-no,  but  we  just  did  not  happen  to  meet.  Bear  in 
mind,  I  was  in  business  some  years  ago,  and  I  am  not  yet 
thirty." 

"  Did  you  know  his  wife  ?  " 

"  I  have  never,  to  my  knowledge,  seen  her." 

"  How,  then,  can  you  account  for  the  fact  that  she  visited 
your  flat  at  Raleigh  Mansions  on  November  6." 

"  I  say  that  such  a  statement  is  mere  nonsense." 

"  But  if  it  can  be  proved  ?  " 

"It  cannot." 

"I  assure  you,  on  my  honor,  that  it  can." 

"But  look  here,  Bruce.  Why  should  she  come  to  see 
me  ?  I  question  greatly  if  she  knew  of  my  existence." 

"Nevertheless,  it  is  the  fact." 

"  I  can  only  tell  you  it  is  not.  I  left  London  on  Novem- 
ber 8,  and  on  the  two  previous  evenings  I  dined  alone. 
Mrs.  Robinson,  my  housekeeper,  can  tell  you  that  not 
another  soul  entered  my  flat  for  a  week  prior  to  my  de- 
parture, except  my  sister  and  —  and  —  I  had  forgotten 
—  some  workmen." 

"  Some  workmen  ?  " 

"Yes;  some  fellows  from  a  furniture  warehouse." 

"  What  were  they  doing  ?  " 

"  Well,  don't  you  see,  I  told  you  I  was  not  well  off,  and 
my  sister  furnished  my  flat  for  me,  in  August  last  that  was, 
but  the  drawing-room  was  left  bare  for  a  time.  Just  be- 
fore I  left  for  France  she  decided  to  refurnish  her  drawing- 
room,  and  she  gave  me  the  whole  fit-out.  The  things 
were  brought  in  by  the  men  who  brought  her  purchases." 

At  this  astounding  revelation  Bruce  and  the  detective 
were  utterly  taken  aback.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  the 
barrister  enunciated  his  next  words  clearly. 

[211] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Can  you  tell  me  with  absolute  certainty  the  date  of 
this  change  of  the  furniture  ?  " 

"Oh  yes.  It  was  the  day  before  I  started  for  the 
Riviera ;  that  must  have  been  November  7." 

"  Are  you  positive  of  this  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly.  Is  it  a  matter  of  importance  ?  Gwen, 
you  know  all  about  it.  Besides,  the  bills  for  your  new 
furniture  will  show  the  exact  date  of  delivery,  and  it  was 
the  same  day." 

Mrs.  Hillmer's  face  was  hidden  by  her  veil,  but  she 
nodded  silently. 

Three  people  in  the  room  knew  the  significance  of 
Mensmore's  straightforward  words;  he  alone  was  un- 
aware of  the  direction  towards  which  the  investigation 
now  tended. 

"Let  us  analyze  the  matter  carefully,"  said  Bruce,  who 
had  recovered  his  self-possession,  though  he  was  almost 
terrified  at  the  possibilities  of  the  situation.  "Did  the 
whole  of  the  contents  of  your  drawing-room  come  from 
your  sister's  flat  ?  " 

"  Every  stick.  There  was  nothing  there  before  but  the 
bare  boards." 

"Do  you  remember  a  handsome  ornamental  fender 
being  among  these  articles  ?  " 

"Perfectly.  My  housekeeper  said  the  men  broke  it 
during  the  transit.  They  denied  this,  and  looked  for  the 
piece  chipped  off,  but  could  not  find  it.  She  told  me  about 
it  that  night." 

"  Did  you  mention  it  to  Mrs.  Hillmer  ?  " 

"  No.  To  tell  the  honest  truth,  Gwen  and  I  had  quar- 
relled a  couple  of  days  before.  That  is  to  say,  we  dis- 
agreed seriously  about  a  certain  matter,  and  it  was  this 
which  led  to  my  making  off  to  Monte  Carlo.  Therefore 

[212] 


A  Wilful  Murder 

it  was  hardly  likely  I  should  mention  such  a  trivial  matter 
to  her." 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  quarrelled  about  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  her  since  that  it  ought  to  be  made  known, 
but  she  has  implored  me  not  to  reveal  it,  so  I  cannot.  But 
she  will  tell  you  herself  that  we  agreed  I  should  be  at  liberty 
to  make  this  guarded  explanation." 

Bruce  and  the  detective  exchanged  glances  of  wondering 
comprehension. 

"I  do  not  think  we  need  question  Mr.  Mensmore  fur- 
ther," said  the  barrister  to  White. 

"No,"  was  the  reply.  "The  matter  is  clear  enough. 
Mrs.  Hillmer  must  tell  us  how  that  furniture  came  to  be 
transferred  from  her  premises  on  the  morning  of  the  7th." 

"  If  she  chooses." 

The  barrister's  tone  was  sad,  and  its  ominous  signifi- 
cance was  not  lost  on  his  hearers. 

Mrs.  Hillmer  raised  her  veil.  Her  face  was  deathly 
pale  and  tense  in  its  fixed  agony.  But  in  her  eyes  was  a 
light  which  gave  a  curious  aspect  of  resolve  to  her  other- 
wise painful  aspect  of  utter  grief. 

"I  do  not  choose,"  she  said  quietly,  looking,  not  at 
Bruce  or  the  detective,  but  at  her  brother. 

For  a  little  while  no  one  spoke.  Mensmore  at  last  broke 
out  eagerly: 

"Don't  act  absurdly,  Gwen.  I  cannot  even  guess 
where  all  this  talk  about  the  furniture  is  leading  us,  but  I 
do  know  that  you  are  as  innocent  of  any  complicity  in 
Lady  Dyke's  death  as  I  am,  so  it  is  better  for  you  to  help 
forward  the  inquiry  than  to  retard  it." 

"  I  am  not  innocent,"  said  Mrs.  Hillmer,  her  words  fall- 
ing with  painful  distinctness  upon  the  ears  of  the  three 
men.  "Heaven  help  me!  I  am  responsible  for  it!" 

[213] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Her  brother  started  to  his  feet,  and  caught  her  by  the 
shoulder. 

"What  folly  is  this,"  he  cried.  "Do  you  know  what 
you  are  saying  ?  " 

"Fully.  My  words  are  like  sledge-hammers.  I  will 
forever  feel  their  weight.  I  tell  you  I  am  responsible  for 
the  death  of  Lady  Dyke." 

"Then  how  did  she  die,  Mrs.  Hillmer?"  said  Bruce, 
whose  glance  sought  to  read  her  soul. 

"I  do  not  know.  I  do  not  want  to  know.  It  matters 
little  to  me." 

"In  other  words,  you  are  assuming  a  responsibility  you 
should  not  bear.  You  were  not  even  aware  of  this  poor 
lady's  death  until  I  told  you.  Why  should  you  seek  to 
avert  suspicion  from  others  merely  because  Lady  Dyke  is 
shown  to  have  met  her  death  in  your  apartments  ?  " 

"But  how  is  it  shown?"  interrupted  Mensmore  vehe- 
mently. He  was  more  disturbed  by  his  sister's  unaccount- 
able attitude  than  he  had  ever  been  by  the  serious  charge 
against  himself. 

"Easily  enough,"  said  White,  feeling  that  he  ought  to 
have  some  share  in  the  conversation.  "A  piece  of  the 
damaged  fender  placed  in  your  rooms,  Mr.  Mensmore,  was 
found  in  the  murdered  lady's  head." 

"Was  it?"  he  cried.  "Then,  by  Heaven,  I  refuse  to 
see  my  sister  sacrificed  for  anybody's  sake.  She  has  borne 
too  long  the  whole  burden  of  misery  and  degradation.  I 
tell  you,  Gwen,  that  if  you  do  not  save  yourself  I  will  save 
you  against  your  will.  That  furniture  came  to  my  room 
because  —  " 

"  Bertie,  I  beseech  you,  for  the  sake  of  the  woman  you 
love,  to  spare  me." 

Mrs.  Hillmer  flung  herself  on  her  knees  before  him  and 

[214] 


A  Wilful  Murder 

caught  hold  of  his  hands,  while  she  burst  into  a  storm  of 
tears. 

Mensmore  was  unnerved.  He  turned  to  Bruce,  and 
said: 

"  Help  me  in  this  miserable  business,  old  chap.  I  don't 
know  what  to  say  or  do ;  my  sister  had  no  more  connection 
with  Lady  Dyke's  death  than  I  had.  This  statement  on 
her  part  is  mere  hysteria,  arising  from  other  circumstances 
altogether." 

"That  I  feel  acutely,"  said  the  barrister.  "Yet  some 
one  killed  her,  and,  whatever  the  pain  that  may  be  caused, 
and  whoever  may  suffer,  I  am  determined  that  the  truth 
shall  come  out." 

"I  tell  you,"  wailed  Mrs.  Hillmer  between  her  sobs, 
"  that  I  must  bear  all  the  blame.  Why  do  you  hesitate  ? 
She  was  killed  in  my  house,  and  I  confess  my  guilt." 

"This  is  rum  business,"  growled  Mr.  White  aloud,  half 
unconsciously. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  unexpectedly,  and 
Smith  entered. 

Before  Bruce  had  time  to  vociferate  an  order  to  his 
astounded  servitor  the  man  stuttered  an  excuse: 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "  but  Sir  Charles  Dyke  has 
called,  and  wants  to  know  if  you  will  be  disengaged  soon." 


[215] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  LETTER 

QUICK  on  the  heels  of  the  footman's  stammered  ex- 
planation came  the  voice  of  Sir  Charles  himself: 

"  Sorry  to  disturb  you,  Bruce,  if  you  are  busy,  but  I  must 
see  you  for  a  moment  on  a  matter  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance." 

There  was  that  in  his  utterance  which  betokened  great 
excitement.  He  was  not  visible  to  the  occupants  of  the 
room.  During  the  audible  silence  that  followed  his  words, 
they  could  hear  him  stamping  about  the  passage,  impa- 
tiently awaiting  Bruce's  presence. 

Mrs.  Hillmer  quietly  collapsed  on  the  floor.  She  had 
fainted. 

The  barrister  rushed  out,  calling  for  Mrs.  Smith,  and 
responding  to  Sir  Charles  Dyke's  proffered  statement  as 
to  the  reason  for  his  presence  by  the  startling  cry: 

"Wait  a  bit,  Dyke.  There's  a  lady  in  a  faint  inside. 
We  must  attend  to  her  at  once." 

Mrs.  Smith,  fortunately,  was  at  hand,  and  with  the  help 
of  her  ministrations,  Mrs.  Hillmer  gradually  regained  her 
senses. 

After  a  whispered  colloquy  with  White,  the  barrister 
said  to  Mensmore : 

"  You  must  remove  your  sister  to  her  residence  as  quickly 
as  possible.  She  is  far  too  highly  strung  to  bear  any  fur- 

[216] 


The  Letter 

ther  questioning  to-night.  Perhaps  tomorrow,  when  you 
and  she  have  discussed  matters  fully  together,  you  may  be 
able  to  send  for  us  and  clear  up  this  wretched  business." 

For  answer  Mensmore  silently  pressed  his  hand.  With 
the  help  of  the  housekeeper  he  led  his  sister  from  the  room, 
passing  Sir  Charles  Dyke  in  the  hall.  The  baronet  po- 
litely turned  aside,  and  Mensmore  did  not  look  at  him, 
being  far  too  engrossed  with  his  sister  to  pay  heed  to  aught 
else  at  the  moment.  As  for  Mrs.  Hillmer,  she  was  in  such 
a  state  of  collapse  as  to  be  practically  unconscious  of  her 
surroundings. 

She  managed  to  murmur  at  the  door: 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me  to,  Bertie  ?  " 

"Home,  dear." 

"  Home  ?    Oh,  thank  Heaven ! " 

They  all  heard  her,  and  even  the  detective  was  con- 
strained to  say: 

"Poor  thing,  she  needn't  have  been  afraid.  She  is 
suffering  for  some  one  else." 

Sir  Charles  Dyke  grasped  Brace's  arm. 

"  What  on  earth  is  going  on  ?  "  he  said. 

"Merely  a  foolish  woman  worrying  herself  about 
others,"  replied  Bruce  grimly. 

"  But  those  people  were  my  old  friends,  Mensmore  and 
his  sister  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  are  they  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Mensmore  has  been  brought  back  to  London  by  Mrs. 
Hillmer  to  face  the  allegations  made  against  him  with  re- 
gard to  your  wife's  disappearance.  They  came  here  by 
their  own  appointment,  and  — " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  this  charge  against  Mensmore 
was  wild  folly  on  the  face  of  it  ?  " 

[217] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"So  it  seems,  when  we  have  just  discovered  that  your 
wife  was  killed  in  his  sister's  house,  and  Mrs.  Hillmer  per- 
sists in  declaring  that  she  was  responsible  for  the  crime." 

"Look  here,  Bruce.  Don't  lose  your  head  like  every- 
body else  mixed  up  in  this  wretched  business.  My  wife 
is  not  dead." 

"What!"  The  cry  was  a  double  one,  for  both  Bruce 
and  White  gave  simultaneous  utterance  to  their  amaze- 
ment. 

"It  is  true.  She  is  alive  all  the  time.  I  have  had  a 
letter  from  her." 

"  A  letter.     Surely,  Dyke  —  " 

"I  am  neither  mad  nor  drunk.  The  letter  reached  me 
by  this  morning's  post.  I  came  here  with  it  as  fast  as  I 
could  travel.  I  have  been  in  the  train  all  day,  and  am 
nearly  fainting  from  hunger." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  cried  White.     "  Is  it  genuine  ?  " 

"I  could  swear  to  her  writing  amidst  a  thousand  letters. 
Here  it  is.  I  have  brought  some  old  correspondence  of 
hers  for  the  purpose  of  comparison,  as  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve my  eyes  when  I  first  received  it." 

Bruce  was  so  dumfounded  by  this  remarkable  de- 
velopment that  he  could  but  mutely  take  the  document 
produced  by  the  baronet  and  read  it. 

He  himself  recognized  Lady  Dyke's  handwriting,  which 
he  had  often  seen  —  a  clear,  bold,  well-defined  script, 
more  like  the  caligraphy  of  a  banker  than  of  a  fashionable 
lady. 

The  letter  was  dated  February  1,  bore  no  other  super- 
scription, and  read  as  follows: 

"  My  Dear  Charles,  — I  have  just  seen  in  the  newspapers 
the  announcement  of  my  death,  and  the  theories  set  on 

[218] 


The  Letter 

foot  to  account  for  my  disappearance  on  November  6. 
This  seems  to  convey  to  me  the  strange  fact  that  you  have 
not  received  the  explanation  I  sent  you  of  my  reasons  for 
leaving  London  so  suddenly.  Otherwise  you  must  have 
kept  your  own  counsel  very  closely.  However,  I  do  not 
now  desire  to  reopen  the  question  of  motive;  let  it  suffice 
to  say  that  no  one  save  myself  was  responsible  for  my  dis- 
appearance, and  that  neither  you  nor  any  one  acquainted 
with  me  will  ever  see  me  again.  Do  not  search  for  me ;  it 
will  be  time  wasted.  If  you  have  legal  proof  of  my  death 
and  wish  to  marry  again,  be  satisfied.  Tear  up  this  letter 
and  forget  it.  I  am  dead  —  to  you  and  to  the  world. 
You  can  neither  refuse  to  accept  the  genuineness  of  this 
letter  nor  trace  me  by  reason  of  it,  as  I  have  taken  such 
precautions  that  the  latter  course  will  be  impossible.  Let 
me  repeat  —  forget  me.  ALICE." 

The  barrister  carefully  refolded  the  sheet  after  scrutiniz- 
ing the  water-mark  against  the  light,  and  noting  that  the 
paper  was  British  made ;  he  then  examined  the  envelope. 
The  obliterating  postmark  was  "London,  February  4, 
9  P.M.,  West  Strand."  The  office  of  delivery  was  "  Wens- 
.ley,  February  6." 

"Posted  at  the  West  Strand  Post-Office  on  Saturday," 
he  said.  "  Detained  in  London  all  Sunday,  and  delivered 
to  you  this  morning  in  the  North." 

"Exactly." 

"  It  was  written  three  days  earlier,  if  the  date  be  accurate. 
So  the  writer  is  somewhere  in  Europe." 

"That's  how  I  take  it,"  said  Sir  Charles. 

"Unless  the  whole  thing  is  a  fraud." 

"  How  can  it  be  a  fraud  ?  I  am  sure  as  to  the  hand- 
[219] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

writing.  Why,  even  yourself,  Bruce,  must  have  a  good 
recollection  of  my  wife's  style." 

"Undoubtedly.  No  man  born  could  swear  that  this 
was  not  Lady  Dyke's  production." 

"  Well,  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"And  what  did  Mrs.  Hillmer  mean  by  kicking  up  that 
fuss  when  we  spoke  to  her?"  interpolated  White.  "I'll 
take  my  oath  that  some  one  was  killed  in  her  house,  else 
how  comes  it  that  a  woman  found  in  the  Thames  at  Put- 
ney is  carrying  about  in  her  head  some  of  Mrs.  Hillmer's 
ironwork?  I  wish  she  hadn't  fainted  just  now.  Why, 
she  said  herself  that  she  was  the  cause  of  Lady  Dyke's 
death,  and  here  is  Lady  Dyke  writing  to  say  she  is  alive. 
This  business  is  beyond  me,  but  Mrs.  Hillmer  has  got  to 
explain  a  good  deal  yet  before  I  am  done  with  her." 

The  detective's  wrath  at  this  check  in  the  hunt  after  a 
criminal  did  not  appeal  to  the  baronet. 

"You  can  please  yourself,  Mr.  White,  of  course,"  he 
said  coldly;  "but  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  will  respect 
my  wife's  wishes,  and  let  the  matter  rest  where  it  is." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  barrister,  "  such  a  course  is 
impossible.  Assuming  that  her  ladyship  is  really  alive, 
why  did  she  leave  you  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  She  herself  refuses  to  give  a  reason. 
She  apparently  stated  one  in  a  letter  which  never  reached 
me,  as  you  know.  She  has  selfishly  caused  me  a  world  of 
suffering  and  misery  for  three  long  months.  I  refuse  to 
be  plagued  in  the  matter  further." 

Sir  Charles  was  excited  and  angry.  He  was  in  bitter 
revolt  against  circumstances. 

"Do  you  intend  to  show  this  letter  to  Lady  Dyke's 
relatives  ? "  asked  Bruce,  at  a  loss  for  the  time  to  discuss 
the  situation  coherently. 

[220] 


The  Letter 

"I  do  not  know.  What  would  you  advise?  I  trust 
fully  to  your  judgment.  But  is  it  not  better  to  obey  her 
wishes  ?  —  to  forget,  as  she  puts  it  ?  " 

"We  must  decide  nothing  hastily.  I  am  perplexed 
beyond  endurance  by  this  business.  There  is  so  much 
that  is  wildly  impossible  in  its  irreconcilable  features.  I 
must  have  time.  Will  you  give  me  a  copy  of  the  letter  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  keep  it  yourself.     We  have  all  seen  it." 

"  Thank  you."  Bruce  placed  the  envelope  and  its  con- 
tents in  his  pocket-book.  Then,  turning  to  the  detective, 
he  said: 

"  Now,  Mr.  White,  do  me  a  favor.  Do  not  worry  Mrs. 
Hillmer  until  you  hear  from  me." 

"  By  all  means,  Mr.  Bruce.  But  am  I  to  report  to  the 
Commissioner  that  Lady  Dyke  has  been  found,  or  has,  at 
any  rate,  explained  that  she  is  not  dead  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  immediate  necessity  why  a  report  of  any 
kind  should  be  made." 

"None." 

"Then  leave  matters  where  they  are  at  present." 

"But  why,"  put  in  Sir  Charles.  "Is  it  not  better  to 
end  all  inquiries,  at  least  so  far  as  my  wife  is  concerned  ? 
It  is  her  desire,  and,  I  may  add,  my  own,  now  that  I  know 
something  of  her  fate." 

"  Of  course,  if  you  wish  it,  Dyke,  I  have  no  valid  ob- 
jection." 

"  Oh,  no,  no.  Do  not  look  at  it  in  that  way.  I  leave 
the  ultimate  decision  entirely  to  you." 

"  In  that  case,  I  recommend  complete  silence  in  all  quar- 
ters at  present." 

The  detective  left  them,  and  as  he  passed  out  into  Vic- 
toria Street  his  philosophy  could  find  but  one  compre- 
hensive dictum.  "This  is  a  rum  go,"  he  muttered,  un- 

[221] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

consciously  plagiarizing  himself  on  many  previous  oc- 
casions. 

The  baronet  sat  down,  and  meditatively  chewed  the 
handle  of  his  umbrella. 

"  What  is  this  nonsense  Mensmore's  sister  talked  about 
being  responsible  for  my  wife's  death  ?  "  he  said. 

"I  do  not  pretend  to  understand,"  answered  Bruce. 
"  Little  more  than  a  week  ago  she  learned  for  the  first  time 
of  your  wife's  supposed  murder.  Of  that  I  am  quite 
positive.  She  feared  that  her  brother  was  implicated, 
and,  without  trusting  me  with  the  reasons  for  her  belief, 
took  the  measures  she  thought  best  to  safeguard  him." 

"Took  measures!  What?"  Sir  Charles  jerked  the 
words  out  impetuously. 

"She  followed  him  to  the  South  of  France,  and  found 
him  in  Florence.  What  she  said  I  cannot  guess,  but  the 
result  was  their  visit  here  tonight.  During  our  interview 
it  came  out,  quite  by  accident,  that  some  furniture  was 
taken  from  her  place  to  her  brother's  on  the  morning  of 
November  7,  thus  shifting  the  venue  of  Lady  Dyke's  death 
—  or  imaginary  death  I  must  now  say  —  from  No.  12 
Raleigh  Mansions  to  No.  61.  This  discovery  was  as 
startling  to  Mrs.  Hillmer  as  to  us,  for  she  forthwith  pro- 
tested that  the  whole  affair  arose  from  her  fault,  and  prac- 
tically asked  the  detective  to  arrest  her  on  the  definite 
charge  of  murder." 

"  Pooh !     The  mania  of  an  hysterical  woman ! " 

"Possibly!" 

"  Why  '  possibly '  ?  No  one  was  murdered  in  her  abode. 
Do  you  for  a  moment  believe  the  monstrous  insinuation  ?  " 

"  No,  not  in  that  sense.  But  her  brother  was  about  to 
make  some  revelation  regarding  a  third  person  when  she 
appealed  to  him  not  to  speak.  What  would  have  hap- 


The  Letter 

pened  finally  I  do  not  know.  At  that  critical  moment  my 
servant  announced  your  arrival." 

"  But  what  can  Mrs.  Hillmcr  have  to  conceal  ?  She 
and  her  brother  have  been  lost  to  Society  since  long  before 
my  marriage.  Neither  of  them,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  ever 
set  eyes  on  my  wife  during  the  last  seven  years." 

"Yet  Mrs.  Hillmer  must  have  had  some  powerful  mo- 
tive in  acting  as  she  did." 

"  Is  it  not  more  than  likely  that  she  had  a  bad  attack  of 
nerves  ?  " 

"A  woman  who  merely  yields  to  nervous  prostration 
behaves  foolishly.  This  woman  gave  way  to  emotion,  it  is 
true,  but  it  was  strength,  not  weakness,  that  sustained  her." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  force  that  sustains  in  such  a  crisis  — 
the  power  of  love.  Mrs.  Hillmer  was  not  flying  from  conse- 
quences. She  met  them  half-way  in  the  spirit  of  a  martyr." 

"  'Pon  my  honor,  Bruce,  I  am  beginning  to  think  that 
this  wretched  business  is  affecting  your  usually  clear  brain. 
You  are  accepting  fancies  as  facts." 

"  Maybe.  I  confess  I  am  unable  to  form  a  logical  con- 
clusion tonight." 

"  Why  not  abandon  the  whole  muddle  to  time  ?  There 
is  no  solution  of  a  difficulty  like  the  almanac.  Let  us  both 
go  off  somewhere." 

"What,  and  leave  Mrs.  Hillmer  to  die  of  sheer  pain  of 
mind  ?  Let  this  unfortunate  fellow,  Mensmore,  suffer  no 
one  knows  what  consequences  from  the  events  of  today  ? 
It  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  Very  well,  I  leave  it  to  you.  Every  one  seems  to  forget 
that  it  is  I  who  suffer  most."  The  baronet  stood  up  and 
dejectedly  gazed  into  the  fire. 

"I,  at  least,  can  feel  for  you,  Dyke,"  said  Bruce  sym- 

[223] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

pathetically,  "but  you  must  admit  that  things  cannot  be 
allowed  to  remain  in  their  present  whirlpool." 

"  So  be  it.  Let  them  go  on  to  their  bitter  end.  If  my 
wife  was  tired  of  my  society  she  might  at  least  have  got 
rid  of  me  in  an  easier  manner." 

With  this  trite  reflection  Sir  Charles  quitted  his  friend's 
house. 

Bruce  sat  motionless  for  a  long  time.  Then,  as  his 
mind  became  calmer,  he  lit  a  cigar,  took  out  the  doubly 
mysterious  letter,  and  examined  it  in  every  possible  way, 
critically  and  microscopically. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  a  genuine  produc- 
tion. The  condition  of  the  ink  bore  out  the  correctness  of 
the  date,  and  the  fact  that  the  note  paper  and  envelope 
were  not  of  Continental  style  was  not  very  material. 

It  did  not  appear  to  have  been  enclosed  in  another  en- 
velope, as  the  writer  implied,  for  the  purpose  of  being  re- 
posted  in  London.  Rather  did  the  slightly  frayed  edges 
give  rise  to  the  assumption  that  it  had  been  carried  in  some 
one's  pocket  before  postage.  But  this  theory  was  vague 
and  undemonstrable. 

The  handwriting  was  Lady  Dyke's;  the  style,  allowing 
for  the  strange  conditions  under  which  it  was  written,  was 
hers;  yet  Bruce  did  not  believe  in  it. 

Nothing  could  shake  his  faith  in  the  one  solid,  concrete 
certainty  that  stood  out  from  a  maze  of  contradictions  and 
mystery  —  Lady  Dyke  was  dead,  and  buried  in  a  pauper's 
grave  at  Putney. 

At  last,  wearied  with  thought  and  theorizing,  he  went  to 
bed;  but  Smith  sat  up  late  to  regale  his  partner  with  the 
full,  true,  and  particular  narrative  of  the  "lydy  a-cryin' 
on  her  knees,  and  the  strange  gent  lookin'  as  though  he 
would  like  to  murder  Mr.  White." 

[224] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
THE  HANDWRITING 

LIKE  most  men,  Claude  took  a  different  view  of  events 
in  the  morning  to  that  which  he  entertained  over  night. 

Yesterday,  the  surprises  of  the  hour  were  concrete  em- 
bodiments, each  distinct  and  emphatic.  To-day  they 
were  merged  in  the  general  mass  of  contradictory  details 
that  made  up  this  most  bewildering  inquiry. 

That  matters  could  not  be  allowed  to  rest  in  their  present 
state  was  clear;  that  they  would,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  reveal  themselves  more  definitely,  even  if  unaided, 
was  also  patent. 

Mrs.  Hillmer's  partial  admissions,  her  brother's  evident 
knowledge  of  some  salient  features  of  the  puzzle,  that  utterly 
strange  letter  in  the  admitted  handwriting  of  Lady  Dyke 
herself,  and  bearing  the  prosaic  testimony  of  dates  stamped 
by  the  Post-office  —  these  sensational  elements,  when 
brought  into  juxtaposition,  could  not  avoid  reaction  into 
clearer  phases. 

Long  experience  in  criminal  investigation  told  him  that, 
under  certain  circumstances,  the  best  course  of  all  was  one 
of  inactivity. 

On  the  basis  of  the  accepted  truism  in  the  affairs  of  many 
people  that  "  letters  left  unanswered  answer  themselves," 
the  barrister  knew  that  there  must  be  an  outcome  from  the 
queer  medley  of  occurrences  at  his  residence  on  the  Mon- 
day evening. 

[225] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Reviewing  the  history  of  the  past  three  months  several 
odd  features  stood  out  from  the  general  jumble. 

In  the  first  place,  he  wondered  why  he  had  failed  to  de- 
duce any  pertinent  fact  from  the  manner  in  which  Mrs. 
Hillmer's  dining-room  was  furnished  on  the  occasion  of 
his  first  visit  to  Raleigh  Mansions. 

He  distinctly  remembered  noting  his  reception  in  an 
unusual  room  littered  with  unusual  articles,  when  the 
luxurious  and  well-appointed  suite  of  apartments  was 
considered  as  a  whole.  It  was  suggested  to  him  at  the 
tune  that  the  drawing-room,  which  he  saw  during  his 
second  visit,  was  dismantled  earlier,  but  he  did  not  con- 
nect this  trivial  incident  with  the  feature  in  Mensmore's 
flat  that  he  noted  immediately  —  namely,  the  discrepan- 
cies between  the  arrangement  of  the  sitting-room  and  the 
other  chambers  in  the  place. 

These  things  were  immaterial  now,  but  he  indexed  them 
as  a  guide  for  future  use. 

Lady  Dyke's  motive  for  that  secret  visit  to  Raleigh 
Mansions  —  that  was  the  key  to  the  mystery.  But  how 
to  discover  it?  Who  was  her  confidant?  To  whom 
could  he  turn  for  possible  enlightenment  ?  It  was  useless 
to  broach  the  matter  again  to  her  husband.  The  baronet 
and  his  wife  had  been  friends  sharing  the  same  menage 
rather  than  husband  and  wife.  Her  relatives  had  already 
been  appealed  to  in  vain.  They  knew  nothing  of  the 
slightest  value  in  this  search  for  truth. 

In  this  train  of  thought  the  name  of  Jane  Harding 
cropped  up.  She  was  the  personal  maid  of  the  deceased 
lady.  She  had  sharp  eyes  and  quick  wits.  Her  queer 
antics  shortly  after  the  inquest  were  not  forgotten.  Here 
at  least  was  a  possibility  of  light  if  the  girl  would  speak. 

If  she  refused  what  could  be  her  motive  ? 

[226] 


The  Handwriting 

Anyhow  it  was  worth  while  to  make  a  fresh  effort. 
Early  in  the  afternoon  he  called  at  the  stage-door  of  the 
Jollity  Theatre. 

"  Is  Miss  Marie  le  Marchant  still  employed  here  ?  "  he 
asked  the  attendant. 

"I  dunno,"  was  the  careless  answer. 

"Well,  think  hard,"  said  the  barrister,  laying  a  half- 
crown  on  the  battered  blotting-pad  which  is  an  indis- 
pensable part  of  the  furniture  in  the  letter  bureau  of  a 
theatre. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  believe  she  is,  but  she  has  been  away  on  a 
week's  leave." 

"Indeed.     Has  she  returned?" 

"  I  was  off  last  night,  sir,  but  if  you  will  pardon  me  a 
moment  I'll  inquire  from  the  man  who  took  my  place." 

The  stage-doorkeeper  disappeared  into  the  dark  in- 
terior, to  return  quickly  with  the  information  that  Miss  le 
Marchant  had  appeared  as  usual  on  Monday  night. 

"  She  was  away  most  part  of  last  week,  sir,"  added  the 
man,  "  and  I  believe  it  wasn't  a  holiday,  as  she  was  a-sort 
of  flurried  about  it  as  if  some  one  was  ill." 

"  Thank  you.     Do  you  know  where  she  lives  ?  " 

A  momentary  hesitation  was  soon  softened  by  another 
half-crown. 

"  It's  against  the  rules,  sir.  If  you  were  to  find  yourself 
near  Jubilee  Buildings,  Bloomsbury,  you  would  not  be 
far  out." 

The  information  was  sound.  Miss  Marie  le  Marchant's 
name  was  painted  outside  a  second-floor  flat. 

Bruce  knocked,  and  the  door  was  opened  by  an  elderly 
woman  whom  he  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing. 

"  Is  your  daughter  in,  Mrs.  Harding  ? "  he  said. 

For  a  moment  she  could  not  speak  for  surprise. 

[227] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Well,  I  never,"  she  cried,  "but  London  is  a  funny 
place.  Do  you  know  me,  sir  ?  " 

"Any  one  would  recognize  you  from  your  daughter,  if 
they  did  not  take  you  for  her  elder  sister,"  he  said.  Bruce's 
smile  was  irresistible. 

"My  daughter  is  not  in  just  now,  sir,"  replied  Mrs. 
Harding,  "but  I  expect  her  in  to  tea  almost  immediately." 

"  Then  may  I  come  in  and  await  her  arrival  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

Once  inside  the  flat,  he  was  impressed  by  the  preten- 
tious but  fairly  comfortable  nature  of  its  appointments; 
the  ex-lady's  maid's  legacy  must  have  been  a  nice  one  to 
enable  her  to  live  in  such  style,  as  the  poor  pittance  of  a 
coryphee  would  barely  pay  the  rent  and  taxes.  Moreover, 
the  presence  of  her  mother  in  the  establishment  was  a  dis- 
tinct factor  in  her  favor. 

Mrs.  Harding  had  brought  the  visitor  to  the  tiny  sitting- 
room.  She  seated  herself  near  the  window  and  resumed 
some  sewing. 

"  Have  you  been  long  in  town,  Mrs.  Harding  ?  "  he  said, 
by  way  of  being  civil. 

"In  London,  do  you  mean,  sir?  About  two  months. 
Ever  since  my  daughter  got  along  so  well  in  her  new  pro- 
fession. She's  a  good  girl,  is  my  daughter." 

"  Miss  Harding  is  doing  well  on  the  stage,  then  ? " 

"Oh  yes,  sir.  Why,  she's  been  earning  £6  a  week, 
and  last  week  she  was  sent  for  on  a  special  engagement, 
which  paid  her  so  well  that  she's  going  to  buy  me  a  new 
dress  out  of  the  money." 

"Really,"  said  the  barrister,  "you  ought  to  be  proud 
of  her." 

"  I  am,"  admitted  the  admiring  mother.     "  I  only  wish 

[228] 


The  Handwriting 

her  brother,  who  went  off  and  'listed  for  a  sojer,  had 
turned  out  half  as  well." 

Mrs.  Harding  nodded  towards  a  photograph  of  a  cavalry 
soldier  hi  uniform  on  the  mantelshelf,  and  Bruce  rose  to 
examine  it,  inwardly  marvelling  at  the  intelligence  he  had 
just  received.  Was  it  reasonable  that  the  girl  could  be  the 
recipient  of  a  legacy  without  the  knowledge  of  her  mother  ? 
In  any  case,  why  did  she  conceal  the  real  nature  of  her 
earnings  ?  The  story  about  "  £6  a  week  "  was  a  myth. 

Near  to  the  portrait  of  the  gallant  huzzar  was  a  large 
plaque  presentment  of  Miss  Marie  herself,  in  all  the  glory 
of  tights,  wig,  and  make-up.  Across  it  was  written,  in  the 
best  theatrical  style,  "  Ever  yours  sincerely,  Marie  le  Mar- 
chant."  And  no  sooner  had  Bruce  caught  sight  of  the 
words  than  he  almost  shouted  aloud  in  his  amazement. 

The  handwriting  was  identical  with  that  of  Lady  Dyke. 

Gulping  down  his  surprise,  he  devoured  the  signature 
with  his  eyes.  The  resemblance  was  truly  remarkable. 
What  on  earth  could  be  the  explanation  of  this  phenom- 
enon. 

"Your  daughter  is  a  remarkably  nice  writer,  Mrs. 
Harding,"  he  said,  turning  the  photograph  towards  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  complacent  mother,  "  she  taught  herself 
when  —  before  she  went  on  the  stage.  She  was  always  a 
clever  girl,  and  when  she  grew  up  she  improved  herself. 
I  wasn't  able  to  afford  her  much  schooling  when  she  was 
young." 

"  I  have  seldom  seen  a  nicer  hand,"  he  went  on.  "  Have 
you  any  other  specimens  of  her  writing  ?  I  should  like  to 
see  them  if  they  are  not  private." 

The  smooth  surface  of  the  photograph  might  perhaps 
lend  a  deceptive  fluency  to  the  pen.  He  wanted  to  make 
quite  sure  that  he  was  not  mistaken. 

[229] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  Oh  yes.  She's  just  copying  out  the  part  of  Ophelia 
in  Hamlet.  And  she  acts  it  beautiful." 

Mrs.  Harding  handed  over  a  large  MS .  book,  and  there, 
written  on  the  first  page,  was  the  name  of  the  luckless 
woman  whose  fatal  passion  has  moved  millions  to  tears. 

He  admired  Miss  Marie  le  Marchant's  efforts  in  the 
matter  of  self-culture,  but  he  was  determined,  once  for  all, 
to  wrest  from  her  some  explanation  of  her  actions. 

The  rattle  of  a  key  in  the  outer  door- caused  him  to 
throw  aside  the  coveted  "part,"  and  the  young  lady  her- 
self entered.  A  few  weeks  of  stage  experience  had  given 
her  a  more  stylish  appearance.  There  was  a  "profes- 
sional "  touch  in  the  arrangement  of  her  hat  and  the  droop 
of  her  skirt. 

She  knew  him  instantly,  and  listened  with  evident  anger 
to  her  mother's  explanation  that  "  this  gentleman  has  just 
called  to  see  you,  dear." 

"  All  right,  mother,"  she  cried.  "  I  see  it  is  Mr.  Bruce. 
Will  you  get  tea  ready  while  I  talk  with  him  ?  I  shall  be 
ready  in  two  minutes."  This  with  a  defiant  look  at  the 
visitor. 

When  Mrs.  Harding  quitted  the  room  her  daughter  said 
in  the  crisp  accents  of  ill-temper: 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me,  now  ?  " 

"I  want  to  ask  why  you  dared  to  write  a  letter  to  Sir 
Charles  Dyke  in  the  name  of  your  dead  mistress." 

The  answer  was  so  direct,  the  tone  so  menacing,  its  as- 
sumption of  absolute  and  unquestioned  knowledge  so 
complete,  that  for  a  moment  Marie  le  Marchant's  assur- 
ance failed  her. 

She  stood  like  one  petrified,  with  eyes  dilated  and  breast 
heaving.  At  last  she  managed  to  ejaculate : 

"I  —  I  —  why  do  you  ask  me  that  question  ? " 

[230] 


The  Handwriting 

"Because  I  must  have  the  truth  from  you  this  time. 
You  are  playing  a  very  dangerous  game." 

That  he  was  right  he  was  sure  now  beyond  doubt.  It 
was  impossible  for  the  girl  to  deny  it  with  those  piercing 
eyes  fixed  on  her,  and  seeming  to  read  the  secrets  of  her 
heart. 

Yet  she  was  plucky  enough.  Although  she  was  con- 
fused and  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  tears,  she  snapped 
viciously : 

"  I  will  tell  you  nothing.     Go  away." 

"  You  are  obstinate,  I  know,"  said  Bruce,  "  but  I  must 
warn  you  that  you  are  juggling  with  edged  tools.  You 
should  not  imagine  that  you  can  trifle  with  murder.  What 
is  your  motive  for  deliberately  trying  to  conceal  Lady 
Dyke's  death?  If  you  do  not  answer  me  you  may  be 
asked  the  question  in  a  court  of  law." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  come  here  annoying  me  ? "  she 
retorted. 

"I  am  not  here  to  annoy  you.  I  come,  rather,  as  a 
friend,  to  appeal  to  you  not  to  incur  the  grave  risk  of  keep- 
ing from  the  authorities  information  which  they  ought  to 
possess." 

"  What  information  ?  " 

"  The  reasons  which  led  you  to  leave  Sir  Charles  Dyke's 
house  so  suddenly,  the  source  from  which  you  obtain  your 
money,  paid  to  you,  doubtless,  to  secure  your  silence,  the 
motive  which  impelled  you  to  use  your  ability  to  imitate 
her  ladyship's  handwriting  in  order  to  spread  the  false 
news  that  she  is  alive.  This  is  the  information  needed, 
and  your  wilful  refusal  to  give  it  constitutes  a  grave  in- 
dictment." 

"I  don't  care  that  for  you,  Mr.  Bruce,"  replied  the  girl, 
her  face  set  now  in  a  scarlet  temper,  while  she  snapped  her 

[231] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

fingers  to  emphasize  the  words.  "  You  can  do  and  say  what 
you  like,  I  will  tell  you  nothing." 

"  You  cannot  deny  you  wrote  that  letter  to  Sir  Charles 
Dyke  last  Saturday?" 

"I  am  waiting  for  my  tea.  Sorry  I  can't  ask  you  to 
join  me." 

"Your  flippancy  will  not  avail  you.  See,  here  is  the 
letter  itself  —  your  own  production  —  written  on  paper 
of  which  you  have  a  quantity  in  this  very  room." 

The  shot  was  a  bold  one,  and  it  very  nearly  hit  the  mark. 
She  was  staggered,  almost  subdued  by  this  melodramatic 
production  of  the  original,  and  his  clever  guess  at  the 
existence  of  similar  notepaper  in  the  house. 

But  her  dogged  temperament  saved  her.  Jane  Harding 
was  British,  notwithstanding  her  penchant  for  a  French- 
sounding  name,  and  she  would  have  died  sooner  than  beat 
a  retreat. 

"I  will  thank  you  to  leave  me  alone,  Mr.  Bruce,"  she 
said. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  retire  as  gracefully  as 
possible,  but  the  barrister  was  more  than  satisfied  with 
the  result  of  his  visit.  He  had  now  established  beyond  a 
shadow  of  doubt  that  for  some  reason  which  he  could  not 
fathom  the  ex-lady's  maid  not  only  knew  of  her  mistress's 
death,  but  wished  to  conceal  it. 

This  desire,  too,  had  the  essential  feature  of  every  other 
branch  of  the  inquiry;  it  grew  to  maturity  long  after  the 
day  when  Lady  Dyke  was  actually  killed.  What  did  it 
ah1  mean  ? 

From  Bloomsbury  he  strolled  west  to  Portman  Square, 
and  found  Sir  Charles  on  the  point  of  going  for  a  drive 
in  the  Park. 

He  briefly  told  him  his  discovery. 

[232] 


The  Handwriting 

The  baronet  at  first  was  sceptical.  "Do  you  mean  to 
say,  Claude,"  he  cried,  fretfully,  "  that  I  do  not  know  my 
wife's  writing  when  I  see  it  ?  " 

"  You  may  think  you  do,  but  when  another  person  can 
imitate  it  exactly,  of  course,  you  may  be  deceived.  Be- 
sides, if  this  girl,  as  is  probable,  was  helped  in  her  educa- 
tion by  your  wife,  what  is  more  likely  than  that  Jane  Hard- 
ing should  seek  to  copy  that  which  she  would  consider  the 
ideal  of  excellence.  Don't  harbor  any  delusions  in  the 
matter,  Dyke.  The  letter  you  received  on  Monday  morn- 
ing was  written  by  Jane  Harding.  I  am  sure  of  that  from 
her  manner  no  less  than  from  the  accidental  resemblance 
of  the  two  styles  of  handwriting.  What  I  could  not  find 
out  was  her  motive  for  the  deceit." 

"It  is  a  queer  business  altogether,"  said  Sir  Charles 
wearily;  "  I  wish  it  were  ended." 


[233] 


CHAPTER  XXV 
MISS  PHYLLIS  BROWNE  INTERVENES 

BRUCE  was  quite  positive  in  his  belief  that  Jane  Harding 
was  the  paid  agent  of  some  person  who  wished  to  conceal 
the  facts  concerning  Lady  Dyke's  death. 

Her  unexpected  appearance  in  the  field  at  this  late  hour, 
no  less  than  the  bold  role  she  adopted,  proved  this  con- 
clusively. But  in  England  there  was  no  torture-chamber 
to  which  she  might  be  led  and  gradually  dismembered 
until  she  confessed  the  truth. 

So  long  as  she  adhered  to  the  policy  of  pert  denial  she 
was  quite  safe.  The  law  could  not  touch  her,  for  the 
chief  witness  against  her,  Sir  Charles  Dyke,  was  obviously 
more  than  half-inclined  to  admit  the  genuineness  of  the 
letter,  even  in  opposition  to  the  superior  judgment  of  his 
friend. 

Yet  it  was  a  matter  which  Bruce  considered  ought  to  be 
made  known  to  the  police,  so  he  sent  for  Mr.  White  and 
told  him  of  the  strange  result  of  his  interview  with  Miss 
Marie  le  Marchant. 

"Dash  everything!"  cried  the  detective,  when  he  heard 
the  news.  "I  made  a  note  sometime  ago  that  that  girl 
ought  to  be  watched,  but  I  clean  forgot  all  about  it." 

"Remember,"  said  Bruce,  "that  my  discovery  was  the 
result  of  pure  accident.  My  object  in  visiting  her  was  to 
endeavor  to  induce  her  confidence  with  regard  to  Lady 

[234] 


Miss  Phyllis  Browne  Intervenes 

Dyke's  former  life  and  habits.  Indeed,  I  handled  the 
business  very  badly." 

"  I  don't  see  that,  sir.  You  got  hold  of  a  very  remark- 
able fact,  and  thus  prevented  the  success  of  a  bold  move 
by  some  one  which,  in  my  case  at  any  rate,  nearly  choked 
me  off  the  inquiry." 

"  True.  Thus  far,  chance  favored  me.  But  I  ought  to 
have  been  content  with  the  assumption.  There  was  no 
need  to  frighten  her  by  pressing  it  home." 

"  Oh,  from  that  point  of  view  — "  began  the  detective. 

But  Bruce  was  merely  thinking  aloud  —  rough-shaping 
his  ideas  as  they  grouped  themselves  in  his  brain. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  wrong  there  too,"  he  went  on.  "  If  this 
girl  is  working  to  instructions  she  would  have  refused  to 
help  me  in  any  way,  and  she  already  knows  that  I  am  on 
the  trail.  There  is  one  highly  satisfactory  feature  in  the 
Jane  Harding  adventure,  Mr.  White." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"The  person,  or  persons,  responsible  for  Lady  Dyke's 
death  know  that  the  matter  has  not  been  dropped.  They 
are  inclined  to  think  that  the  circle  is  narrowing.  In  some 
of  our  casts,  Mr.  White,  we  must  have  come  so  unpleasantly 
close  to  them,  that  they  deemed  it  advisable  to  throw  us 
off  the  scent  by  a  bold  effort." 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right,  sir,  but  I  wish  to  goodness  I 
knew  when  we  were  *  warm/  as  I  am  becoming  tired  of  the 
business.  Every  new  development  deepens  the  mystery." 

The  detective's  face  was  as  downcast  as  his  words. 

"Surely  not!  The  more  pieces  of  the  puzzle  we  have 
to  handle  the  less  difficult  should  be  the  final  task  of  putting 
them  together." 

"  Not  when  every  piece  is  a  fresh  puzzle  in  itself." 

"  Why,  what  has  disconcerted  you  to-day  ?  " 

[235] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Mrs.  Hillmer." 

"What  of  her?" 

"  I  have  had  another  talk  with  the  maid,  —  her  com- 
panion, you  know,  —  a  girl  named  Dobson.  It  struck 
me  that  it  was  advisable  to  know  more  about  Mrs.  Hillmer 
than  we  do  at  present." 

Bruce  made  no  comment,  but  he  could  not  help  reflect- 
ing that  Corbett,  the  stranger  from  Wyoming,  had  enter- 
tained the  same  view. 

"Well,"  continued  the  detective,  "I  went  about  the 
affair  as  quietly  as  possible,  but  the  maid,  though  willing, 
could  not  tell  me  much.  Mrs.  Hillmer,  she  thinks,  mar- 
ried very  young,  and  was  badly  treated  by  her  husband. 
Finally,  there  was  a  rumpus,  and  she  went  on  the  stage, 
while  Hillmer  drank  himself  to  death.  He  died  a  year 
ago,  and  they  had  been  separated  nearly  five  years.  He 
was  fairly  well-to-do,  but  he  squandered  all  his  money  in 
dissipation  and  never  gave  her  a  cent.  Three  years  last 
Michaelmas  she  set  up  her  present  establishment  at  Ra- 
leigh Mansions,  and  there  she  has  been  ever  since." 

"Then  where  does  the  money  come  from?  It  must 
cost  her  at  least  ,£2,000  a  year  to  live." 

"That's  just  what  the  maid  can't  tell  me.  Her  mis- 
tress led  a  very  secluded  life,  and  was  never  what  you 
could  call  fast,  though  a  very  pretty  woman.  During  this 
time  she  had  only  one  visitor  —  a  gentleman." 

"Ah!" 

"  It  sounds  promising,  but  it  ends  in  smoke,  so  far  as  I 
can  see." 

"Why?" 

"  This  gentleman  was  a  Colonel  Montgomery  —  an  old 
friend  —  though  he  wasn't  much  turned  thirty,  the  maid 
says.  He  interested  himself  a  lot  in  Mrs.  Hillmer's  af- 

[236] 


Miss  Phyllis  Browne  Intervenes 

fairs,  looked  after  some  investments  for  her,  and  was  on 
very  good  terms  with  her,  and  nobody  could  whisper  a 
word  against  the  character  of  either  of  them.  He  was 
never  there  except  in  the  afternoon.  On  very  rare  occa- 
sions he  took  Mrs.  Hillmer,  whose  maid  always  accom- 
panied them,  to  Epping  Forest,  or  up  the  river,  or  on  some 
such  journey." 

"Goon!" 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,  but  the  chase  is  over.     He's  dead." 

"Dead?" 

"  Yes.  The  maid  doesn't  know  how,  or  when,  exactly, 
but  one  day  she  found  her  mistress  crying,  and  when  she 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter,  Mrs.  Hillmer  said,  'I've 
lost  my  friend.'  The  maid  said,  'Surely  not  Colonel 
Montgomery,  madam?'  and  she  replied,  'Yes.'  She 
quite  took  on  about  it." 

"  Had  the  maid  no  idea  as  to  the  date  of  this  interesting 
occurrence  ?  " 

"Only  a  vague  one.  Sometime  in  the  autumn  or  be- 
fore Christmas.  By  Jove,  yes;  it  escaped  me  at  the  time, 
but  she  said  that  soon  after  the  Colonel's  death  another 
gentleman  called  and  took  her  mistress  out  to  dinner.  I 
was  so  busy  thinking  about  the  colonel  that  I  slipped  the 
significance  of  that  statement.  It  must  have  been  you, 
Mr.  Bruce." 

"So  it  seems." 

The  barrister's  active  brain  was  already  assimilating 
this  new  information.  If  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Hillmer  had 
lost  a  dear  and  valuable  friend  —  one  who  practically 
formed  the  horizon  of  her  life  —  she  would  certainly  have 
worn  mourning  for  him.  It  was  a  singular  coincidence 
that  Mrs.  Hillmer  "  lost "  Colonel  Montgomery  about  the 
same  time  that  Lady  Dyke  disappeared.  Detective  and 

[237] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

maid  alike  had  drawn  a  false  inference  from  Mrs.  Hillmer's 
words. 

"We  must  find  Colonel  Montgomery,"  he  said,  after  a 
slight  pause. 

"Find  him!" 

"Yes." 

"  I  hope  neither  of  us  is  going  his  way  for  some  time  to 
come,  Mr.  Bruce,"  laughed  the  policeman. 

"White,  I  shall  never  cure  you  from  jumping  at  con- 
clusions. Upon  your  present  evidence  Colonel  Mont- 
gomery is  no  more  dead  than  you  are." 

"But  the  maid  said  — " 

"  I  don't  care  if  fifty  maids  said.  There  are  many  more 
ways  of  'losing'  a  friend  than  by  death.  Pass  me  the 
Army  List,  on  that  bookshelf  behind  you  there." 

A  brief  reference  to  the  index,  and  Bruce  said : 

"I  thought  so.  There  is  no  Colonel  Montgomery. 
There  are  several  captains  and  lieutenants,  and  a  Major- 
General  who  has  commanded  a  small  island  in  the  Pacific 
for  the  last  five  years,  but  not  a  single  colonel.  White, 
you  have  blundered  into  eminence  in  your  profession." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  even  as  you  put  it,  Mr.  Bruce. 
But  I  don't  see—" 

"I  know  you  don't.  If  you  did,  a  popular  novelist 
would  write  your  life  and  style  you  the  English  Lecocq. 
Mrs.  Hillmer  'lost'  the  gallant  colonel  at  the  same  time 
that  the  world  'lost'  Lady  Dyke.  Find  the  first,  and  I 
am  much  mistaken  if  we  do  not  learn  all  about  the  second." 

"  Now  I  wonder  if  you  are  right." 

The  detective's  eyes  sparkled  with  animation.  It  was 
the  first  real  clue  he  had  hit  upon,  and  Bruce's  method  of 
complimenting  him  on  the  fact  did  not  disconcert  him. 

"Of  course  I  am  right.    You  have  done  so  well  with 

[238] 


Miss  Phyllis  Browne  Intervenes 

the  maid  that  I  leave  her  in  your  hands.  Try  the  coach- 
man and  the  cook.  But  keep  me  informed  of  your 
progress." 

White  rushed  off  elated.  So  persistent  was  he  in  striv- 
ing to  elucidate  this  new  problem  that  he  paid  no  heed 
during  some  days  to  the  side-light  furnished  by  Jane  Hard- 
ing and  her  exceedingly  curious  powers  as  a  letter-writer. 

Bruce  purposely  left  the  inquiry  to  the  policeman. 

He  realized  intuitively  that  the  disappearance  of  Lady 
Dyke  would  soon  be  explained,  but  he  shrank  from  sub- 
jecting Mrs.  Hillmer  to  further  questioning. 

His  abstinence  was  rewarded  later  in  the  week,  for 
Mensmore  came  to  see  him.  The  young  man  wore  an 
expression  of  settled  melancholy  which  surprised  the  bar- 
rister greatly. 

"  Have  you  prevailed  on  your  sister  to  take  us  into  her 
confidence  ?  "  he  said,  when  Mensmore  was  ensconced  in  a 
chair  in  his  cosy  sitting-room. 

"  No.  She  is  more  fixed  than  ever  in  her  resolve  to  take 
the  whole  blame  on  herself." 

"  Surely  this  mistaken  idea  can  be  shaken  ?  " 

"I  fear  not." 

"  And  you  also  share  it  ?  " 

"I  do.  Bear  with  us,  Bruce.  This  is  a  terrible  busi- 
ness. It  has  broken  me  up  utterly." 

"Nonsense.  You  are  in  no  way  concerned  save  to 
shield  your  sister,  and  no  one  credits  her  wild  statements 
regarding  her  complicity  in  this  crime." 

"  Look  here,  my  dear  fellow,  I  have  come  to  ask  you  if 
this  investigation  cannot  be  allowed  to  rest.  It  means  a 
lot  of  misery  that  you  cannot  foretell  or  prevent.  Know- 
ing what  I  do,  I  cannot  believe  that  Lady  Dyke  was  mur- 
dered." 

[239] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Knowing  what  I  do,  I  cannot  accept  any  other  con- 
clusion. A  worthy  and  estimable  lady  leaves  her  home 
suddenly,  without  the  slightest  imaginary  cause,  and  she 
is  found  in  the  Thames  with  a  piece  of  iron  driven  into 
her  brain,  while  the  medical  evidence  is  clear  that  death 
was  not  due  to  drowning.  What  other  inference  can  be 
drawn  than  that  she  was  foully  done  to  death  ?  " 

"Heaven  help  me,  I  cannot  tell.  Yet  I  appeal  to  you 
to  let  matters  rest  where  they  are  if  it  is  possible." 

"  It  is  not  possible.  I  cannot  control  the  police.  I  am 
merely  a  private  agent  acting  on  my  own  responsibility 
and  on  behalf  of  Lady  Dyke's  relatives." 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,  Bruce.  I  am  not  asking 
this  thing  on  account  of  my  sister  or  myself." 

"  On  whose  account,  then  ?  " 

Mensmore  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  He  looked 
mournfully  into  the  fire  for  inspiration. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have 
broken  off  my  engagement  with  Miss  Browne." 

The  other  jumped  from  his  chair. 

"  What  the  dickens  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Exactly  what  I  have  said.  When  we  met  on  Monday 
night,  I  did  not  mention  that  Sir  William  and  Lady  Browne 
and  their  daughter  travelled  back  to  England  with  us. 
On  Tuesday  I  saw  Phyllis.  In  view  of  the  shadow  thrown 
on  me  by  this  frightful  charge  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  re- 
lease her  from  any  ties.  If  my  sister  has  to  figure  in  a 
court  of  law  as  a  principal,  or  accomplice,  in  a  murder 
case  —  and  possibly  myself  with  her  —  I  could  not  con- 
sent to  associate  my  poor  Phyllis's  name  with  mine.  So  I 
took  the  plunge." 

"You  are  a  beastly  idiot,"  shouted  Bruce.  "If  I  had 
the  power  I  would  give  you  six  months'  hard  labor  this 

[240] 


Miss  Phyllis  Browne  Intervenes 

moment.  Who  ever  threatened  to  put  you  or  your  sister 
in  the  dock?" 

"  You  have  done  your  best  that  way,  you  know." 

"  I  ?  —  I  have  shielded  you  throughout ! " 

"I  feel  that.  But  your  admission  shows  that  I  am 
right.  Shielded  us  from  what  ?  From  arrest  by  the  police, 
of  course." 

"  But  why  take  this  precipitate  action  ?  What  has  Lady 
Dyke's  death  to  do  with  your  marriage  to  Miss  Browne  ?  " 

"That's  it,  Bruce.  I  cannot  explain.  I  must  endure 
silently." 

"Did  you  give  her  any  reason  for  your  absurd  reso- 
lution?" 

"  Yes.     I  could  have  no  secrets  from  her." 

"  Did  you  inflict  all  this  wretched  story  on  a  woman  you 
loved  and  hoped  to  marry  ?  " 

"You  may  be  as  bitter  as  you  like.  That  is  my  idea  of 
square  dealing,  at  any  rate.  What  other  pretext  could 
I  invite  for  —  for  giving  her  up  ?  " 

Mensmore  found  it  hard  to  utter  the  words.  In  his 
heart  Bruce  pitied  him,  though  he  raged  at  this  lamentable 
issue  of  the  only  bright  passage  in  the  whole  story  of  death 
and  intrigue. 

"  And  what  did  Miss  Browne  say  ? " 

"  Oh,  she  just  pooh-poohed  the  affair,  and  pretended  to 
laugh  at  me,  though  she  was  crying  all  the  time." 

"  A  nice  kettle  of  fish  you  have  made  of  it,"  growled  the 
barrister.  "You  help  your  sister  in  her  folly  of  silence 
and  then  proceed  to  give  effect  to  it  by  ruining  your  own 
happiness  and  that  of  your  affianced  wife.  Have  you 
seen  Miss  Browne  since  ?  " 

"No." 

His  visitor  was  so  utterly  disconsolate  that  Bruce  was  at 

[241] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

a  loss  to  know  how  to  deal  with  him.  He  felt  that  if 
Mensmore  would  but  speak  regarding  Mrs.  Hillmer's 
strange  delusion,  and  the  cause  of  it,  all  these  difficulties 
and  disasters  would  disappear.  He  resolved  to  try  a 
direct  attack. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  a  Colonel  Montgomery  ?  "  he 
said  suddenly,  bending  his  searching  gaze  on  the  other's 
downcast  face. 

The  effect  was  electrical.  Mensmore  was  so  taken 
back  that  he  was  spellbound.  He  looked  at  Claude,  the 
picture  of  astonishment,  before  he  stammered : 

"I  —  you  —  who  told  you  about  him?" 

"He  was  your  sister's  friend,  adviser,  and  confidant," 
was  the  stem  reply.  "He  it  is  who,  in  some  mysterious 
way,  is  bound  up  with  Lady  Dyke's  disappearance." 

Mensmore  rose  excitedly. 

"  I  cannot  discuss  the  matter  with  you,"  he  cried.  "  I 
have  given  my  sacred  promise,  and  no  matter  what  the 
cost  may  be  I  will  not  break  my  word." 

"I  do  not  press  you.  But  may  I  see  Mrs.  Hillmer 
again  ?  When  she  is  calmer  I  might  reason  with  her." 

The  other  placed  his  hand  on  Bruce's  shoulder,  and  his 
voice  was  very  impressive,  though  shaken  by  strong 
emotion : 

"  Believe  me,"  he  said,  "  it  is  better  that  you  should  not 
see  her.  It  will  be  useless.  She  is  leaving  London,  not 
to  avoid  consequences,  but  to  get  away  from  painful  mem- 
ories. Her  departure  will  be  quite  open,  and  her  place  of 
residence  known  to  any  one  who  cares  to  inquire.  One 
thing  she  is  immovable  in.  She  will  never  reveal  to  a 
living  soul  what  she  knows  of  Lady  Dyke's  death.  She 
would  rather  suffer  any  punishment  at  the  hands  of  the 
law." 

[242] 


Miss  Phyllis  Browne  Intervenes 

"  Don't  you  understand  that  this  man,  Montgomery,  is 
now  known  to  the  police.  Sooner  or  later  he  will  be  found 
and  asked  to  explain  any  connection  he  may  have  had 
with  the  crime.  Why  not  accomplish  quietly  that  which 
will  perforce  be  done  through  the  uncompromising  chan- 
nels of  Scotland  Yard  ? " 

"Your  reasoning  appears  to  be  good,  but — " 

"But  folly  must  prevail?" 

"  Put  it  that  way  if  you  like." 

"  So  this  wretched  imbroglio  may  cost  you  the  love  of  a 
charming  and  devoted  girl  ?  " 

"  Heaven  help  me,  it  may  —  probably  will." 

"I  swear  to  you,"  cried  the  barrister,  who  was  un- 
usually excited,  "  that  I  will  tear  the  heart  out  of  this  mys- 
tery before  the  week  expires." 

Mensmore  bowed  silently  and  would  have  left  the  room, 
but  Smith  entered.  In  their  distraction  they  had  not 
heard  the  bell  ring.  Smith  handed  a  card  to  his  master. 
Instantly  Bruce  controlled  himself.  His  admiration  for 
the  dramatic  sequence  of  events  overcame  his  eagerness 
as  an  actor.  It  was  with  an  appreciative  smile  that  he 
said,  without  the  slightest  reference  to  Mensmore: 

"Show  the  lady  in." 

Mensmore  was  passing  out,  but  the  sight  of  the  visitor 
drove  him  back  as  though  he  had  been  struck.  It  was 
Phyllis  Browne. 

Her  recognition  of  him  was  a  bright  smile.  She  ad- 
vanced to  Bruce,  saying  pleasantly: 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  though  the  manner  of  my  call 
is  somewhat  unconventional.  I  heard  much  of  you  from 
Bertie  in  the  Riviera,  and  more  since  my  return  to 
town." 

He  suitably  expressed  his  delight  at  this  apparition. 

[243] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Mensmore,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  stood  awkwardly  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Neither  of  the  others  paid  the  least  heed  to  him. 

"  Of  course  I  had  a  definite  object  in  coming  to  see  you, 
Mr.  Bruce,"  went  on  the  young  lady.  "I  have  been 
coolly  told  that,  because  somebody  killed  somebody  else 
some  months  ago,  a  young  gentlemen  who  asked  me  to  be 
his  wife,  is  not  only  not  going  to  marry  me  but  intends  to 
spend  the  rest  of  his  life  in  Central  Africa  or  China  — 
anywhere  in  fact  but  where  I  may  be." 

"  A  most  unwise  resolve,"  said  the  barrister. 

"So  I  thought.  You  appear  to  hold  the  key  to  the 
situation ;  and,  as  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  trace  you  through 
the  Directory,  here  I  am.  My  people  think  I  am  skating 
at  St.  James's." 

"Well,  Miss  Browne,"  said  Claude,  "I  am  neither  judge 
nor  jury  nor  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  but  there  is  the 
culprit.  I  hand  him  over  to  you." 

"Yes;  but  that  goose  didn't  kill  anybody,  did  he ?" 

"No." 

"And  I  am  sure  his  sister  did  not;  from  what  little  I  saw 
of  her  she  would  not  hurt  a  fly." 

"Quite  true." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  find  the  man  who  caused  all  the 
mischief  —  and  —  and  —  lock  him  up  at  least,  so  that  he 
cannot  go  on  injuring  people  ?" 

Miss  Phyllis  was  very  brave  and  self-confident  at  the 
outset.  Now  she  was  on  the  verge  of  tears,  for  Mensmore's 
saddened  face  and  depressed  manner  unnerved  her  more 
than  his  passionate  words  at  their  last  interview. 

"You  ask  me  a  straight  question,"  replied  Bruce, 
though  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Mensmore,  "  and  I  will  give 
you  a  straight  answer.  I  will  find  the  man  who  killed 

[244] 


Miss  Phyllis  Browne  Intervenes 

Lady  Dyke.  As  you  say,  it  is  time  his  capacity  for  doing 
injury  to  others  should  be  limited.  Before  many  days 
have  passed  Mr.  Mensmore  will  come  to  you  and  beg 
your  pardon  for  his  hasty  and  quite  unwarranted  resolve." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Bertie  ?  "  cried  the  girl.  "  Didn't  I 
tell  you  so  ?  " 

Mensmore  came  forward  to  her  side  of  the  table. 

"I  need  not  wait,  Phil,  dear,"  he  said  simply.  "I  ask 
your  pardon  now.  This  business  is  in  the  hands  of  Provi- 
dence. I  was  foolish  to  think  that  anything  I  could  do 
would  stave  off  the  inevitable." 

"  And  if  you  have  —  to  go  —  to  China  —  you  w-will 
take  me  with  you  ?  " 

Bruce  looked  out  of  the  window,  whistled,  and  said 
loudly,  addressing  a  beautiful  lady  in  short  skirts  who 
figured  in  a  poster  across  the  way: 

"Let  me  ring  for  some  tea.  All  this  talk  makes  one 
dry." 


[245] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
LADY  HELEN  MONTGOMERY'S  SON 

WHEN  the  young  people  had  gone  —  Mensmore  ill  at 
ease,  though  tremuously  happy  that  Phyllis  had  so  demon- 
strated her  trust  in  him,  Phyllis  herself  radiantly  confident 
in  the  barrister's  powers  to  set  everything  right  —  Bruce 
devoted  himself  to  the  task  of  determining  a  new  line  for 
his  energies. 

The  first  step  was  self-evident.  He  must  ascertain  if 
the  Dykes  knew  a  Colonel  Montgomery. 

He  drove  to  the  Club  frequented  by  Sir  Charles,  but  the 
baronet  was  not  there,  so  he  went  to  Wensley  House. 

Sir  Charles  was  at  home,  in  his  accustomed  nook  by  the 
library  fire.  He  looked  ill  and  low-spirited.  The  tem- 
porary animation  he  had  displayed  during  the  past  few 
weeks  was  gone.  If  anything,  he  was  more  listless  than 
at  any  time  since  his  wife's  death. 

"Well,  Claude,"  he  said  wearily,  "anything  to  report ?" 

"Yes,  a  good  deal." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Did  you  ever  know  a 
Colonel  Montgomery,  or  was  your  wife  acquainted  with 
any  one  of  that  name  to  your  knowledge  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  she  was.  Had  she  ever  met  such  a  man 
I  should  probably  have  heard  of  him.  Who  was  he  ?  " 

The  baronet's  low  state  rendered  his  words  careless  and 
indefinite,  but  his  friend  did  not  wish  to  bother  him  unduly. 

[246] 


Lady  Helen  Montgomery's  Son 

"  The  police  have  discovered,"  he  said,  "  that  Mrs.  Hill- 
mer  formed  a  close  intimacy  with  some  one  whom  she 
designated  by  that  name  and  rank,  though  I  have  failed 
to  trace  any  British  officer  who  answers  to  his  description. 
He  disappeared,  or  died,  as  some  people  put  it,  about  the 
same  time  as  your  wife." 

"  Is  it  not  known  what  became  of  him,  then  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Won't  Mrs.  Hillmer  tell  you  ?  " 

"  She  absolutely  refuses  to  give  any  help,  whatever." 

"On  what  ground?" 

"That  is  best  known  to  herself.  My  theory  is  that  a 
man  she  loves  is  implicated  in  the  affair,  and  she  is  pre- 
pared to  go  to  any  lengths  to  shield  him." 

"Ah!" 

Sir  Charles  bent  over  and  poked  the  fire  viciously.  Then 
he  murmured:  "Women  are  queer  creatures,  Bruce.  We 
men  never  understand  them  until  too  late.  My  wife  and  I 
did  not  to  all  appearance  care  a  jot  for  one  another  while 
she  lived.  Yet  I  now  realize  that  she  loved  me,  and  I 
would  give  the  little  remaining  span  of  existence,  dear  as 
life  is,  to  see  her  once  more." 

This  was  a  morbid  subject;  the  younger  man  tried  to 
switch  him  off  it. 

"  It  is  almost  clear  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  Colonel  Mont- 
gomery's name  was  assumed.  Few  people  realize  the  use 
of  the  alias  made  in  modern  life.  I  have  a  notion  that  the 
custom  among  otherwise  honorable  people  has  arisen  from 
the  publicity  given  to  the  fact  that  Royal  and  other  dis- 
tinguished personages  frequently  choose  to  conceal  their 
identity  under  less  known  territorial  titles." 

"The  idea  is  ingenious.     We  are  all  slaves  to  fashion." 

"However  that  may  be,  it  should  not  be  a  difficult 

[247] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

task  to  lay  hands  on  the  gentleman  should  he  be  still 
living." 

"Suppose  you  succeed.  How  can  you  connect  him 
with  my  wife's  death  ?  " 

"  At  this  moment  I  am  unable  to  say.  But  the  cabman 
might  be  of  some  use." 

"  The  cabman.     What  cabman  ?  " 

"Did  I  omit  that?  I  ought  to  have  told  you  that  I 
have  found  the  driver  of  the  four-wheeler  in  which  your 
poor  wife  was  taken,  dead  or  insensible,  from  Sloane 
Square  to  Putney." 

"What  an  extraordinary  thing!" 

"What  is?" 

"  That  you  should  have  forgotten  to  inform  me  of  such 
a  striking  fact." 

"  Not  so.  Now  that  I  recollect,  I  have  not  had  the  op- 
portunity. It  was  impossible  to  discuss  anything  else  but 
that  forged  letter  on  the  last  two  occasions  we  met,  and  it 
was  only  a  few  hours  prior  to  your  visit  on  Monday  that  I 
got  the  cabman's  story  fully.  By  the  way,  do  you  now 
see  any  reason  why  Jane  Harding  should  have  tried  to  de- 
ceive you  in  such  a  manner  ?  " 

The  barrister  perceived  that  Sir  Charles  was  nervous 
and  irritable,  so  he  deemed  it  a  needless  strain  to  enlarge 
on  the  history  of  his  discovery  of  Foxey. 

"I  am  tired  of  letters,  and  plots,  and  mysteries.  My 
life  is  resolving  into  one  huge  note  of  interrogation.  Soon 
the  great  question  of  eternity  will  dominate  all  others." 

Dyke's  mood  unfitted  him  for  sustained  conversation. 
Bruce  could  but  pity  him,  and  hope  that  time  would  calm 
his  fevered  brain,  and  soothe  the  unrest  that  shed  this 
gloom  over  him. 

"  Really,"  said  Claude,  after  a  long  interval,   during 

[248] 


Lady  Helen  Montgomery's  Son 

which  both  men  sought  inspiration  from  the  dancing 
flames  in  the  fireplace,  "really  this  is  too  bad  of  you, 
Dyke.  You  showed  a  marked  improvement  for  a  little 
space,  and  now  you  are  letting  yourself  slip  back  into  a 
state  of  lonely  and  unoccupied  moping  again." 

"  My  thoughts  find  me  both  occupation  and  company," 
was  the  despondent  reply. 

"There  is  nothing  for  it,"  continued  Bruce  cheerfully, 
"  but  a  tour  round  the  world.  You  must  start  immediately. 
A  complete  change  of  scene  and  surroundings  will  soon 
pull  you  back  to  a  normal  state  of  mind  and  health." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  a  long  journey  for  some  time 
past." 

The  barrister  glanced  sharply  at  his  friend.  The 
double  entente  was  not  lost  on  him.  Dyke  was  in  a  de- 
pressed and  nervous  condition.  The  uncertainty  regarding 
his  wife's  fate  was  harassing  him  unduly  and  it  was  with 
a  twinge  of  conscience  that  Bruce  reflected  upon  his  own 
eagerness  to  pursue  a  quest  which,  by  very  reason  of  its 
indefiniteness,  attracted  him  as  an  intellectual  pursuit. 

"Look  here,"  he  cried,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  "I 
have  long  desired  to  see  the  Canadian  Pacific  route.  Will 
you  arrange  to  start  West  with  me  a  fortnight  hence  ?  We 
can  return  when  the  spirit  moves  us." 

"We  will  see.  We  will  see.  To-day  I  feel  unable  to 
decide  anything." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  the  mere  fact  that  you  take  the  reso- 
lution will  serve  to  reanimate  you." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,  Claude,  to  trouble  so  about  me, 
Had  you  asked  me  earlier  I  might  have  gone  straight  away. 
But  let  it  rest  for  a  little  while.  When  I  have  recovered 
my  spirits  somewhat  I  will  come  to  you  to  ask  you  to  sail 
next  day,  or  something  of  the  sort." 

[249] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Beyond  this,  the  other  could  not  move  him. 

There  was  one  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence  that  would 
be  irrefragable  if  discovered.  Was  this  "  Colonel  Mont- 
gomery" in  any  way  connected  with  the  house  at  Putney 
where  the  murderer  had  disposed  of  the  body?  If  this 
could  be  established,  the  unknown  visitor  to  Raleigh  Man- 
sions would  experience  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  in  clearing 
himself  of  suspicion.  Bruce  was  certain  that,  once  the 
"Colonel"  was  traced,  much  would  come  to  light  ex- 
planatory of  Mrs.  Hillmer's,  and  her  brother's,  dread  lest 
his  identity  should  he  discovered. 

An  inquiry  addressed  to  the  house  agents  to  whom  pos- 
sible tenants  were  referred  elicited  the  information  that 
the  present  owner,  a  lady,  was  prepared  to  let  the  house 
annually  or  on  a  lease.  They  enclosed  an  order  to  view, 
which  Bruce  retained  in  case  he  should  happen  to  need  it. 

A  second  letter  gave  him  the  address  of  the  lady's  so- 
licitors, Messrs.  Small  &  Sharp,  Lincoln's  Inn. 

He  called  on  them  as  a  possible  tenant,  with  a  desire 
to  purchase  the  property  outright  if  his  proposal  could  be 
entertained. 

Mr.  Sharp,  the  partner  who  dealt  with  the  estate,  be- 
came very  suave  when  the  suggestion  reached  his  ears. 

"You  will  understand,  Mr.  Bruce,  that  your  request 
requires  some  consideration.  The  rent  my  client  asks  is 
comparatively  low,  because  the  house  is  old-fashioned,  but 
the  splended  riparian  position  of  the  property,  a  free-hold 
acre  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames  at  Putney,  gives  it  a 
highly  increased  future  value.  Any  figure  you  may  have 
based  on  a  rental  calculation  would  therefore — " 

"  Not  meet  the  case  at  all,"  said  the  barrister,  repressing 
a  smile  at  the  familiar  opening  move  in  the  game  of  bar- 
gaining. 

[250] 


Lady  Helen  Montgomery's  Son 

"Precisely." 

"May  I  ask  who  the  present  owner  is?" 

"Certainly,  the  lady's  name  is  Small.  In  fact,  she  is 
my  partner's  wife.  Her  father,  the  late  Rev.  Septimus 
Childe,  purchased  the  estate  some  years  ago,  largely  be- 
cause the  house  suited  his  requirements  as  the  head  of  a 
successful  private  school." 

"  Has  the  estate  changed  hands  frequently  then  ?  " 

"Oh,  dear,  no.  Indeed,  it  is  well  understood  that  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Childe  acquired  it  more  as  a  friendly  transaction 
than  otherwise.  The  estate  is  a  portion  of  the  separate 
estate  of  the  late  Lady  Helen  Montgomery,  who  married 
Sir  William  Dyke,  father  of  the  present  baronet,  who  per- 
haps —  good  gracious,  my  dear  sir,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Had  Bruce  been  a  woman  he  must  have  fainted. 

As  it  was,  the  shock  of  the  intelligence  nearly  paralyzed 
him.  Sir  Charles  Dyke!  —  Montgomery!  —  The  house 
at  Putney  the  property  of  his  mother!  What  new  terror 
did  not  this  frightful  combination  suggest? 

Why  did  his  friend  conceal  from  him  these  most  im- 
portant facts?  Why  did  he  pretend  ignorance  not  only 
of  the  locality  but  of  his  mother's  maiden  name  ?  Like 
lightning  the  remembrance  flashed  through  Bruce's 
troubled  brain  that  he  had  only  heard  of  the  earlier  Lady 
Dyke  as  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Tilbury.  A  suspicion 
— profoundly  horrible,  yet  convincing — was  slowly  master- 
ing him,  and  every  second  brought  further  proof  not  only  of 
its  reasonableness,  but  of  its  ghastly  and  inflexible  certainty. 

Again  the  lawyer's  voice  reached  his  ears,  dully  and 
thin,  as  though  it  penetrated  through  a  wall. 

"  Surely,  you  feel  ill  ?    Let  me  get  you  some  brandy." 

"  No  —  no,"  murmured  the  barrister.  "  It  is  but  a 
momentary  faintness.  I  —  I  think  I  will  go  out  into  the 

[251] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

fresh  air.  Are  you — quite  sure — that  Mr.  Childe  bought 
the  property  from  Lady  Helen  Montgomery's  trustees  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure.  If  you  wait  even  a  few  moments  I  will 
show  you  the  title-deeds." 

"  No,  thank  you.     I  will  call  again.     Pray  excuse  me." 

Somehow  Bruce  crossed  the  quiet  square  of  the  Inn,  and 
plunged  into  the  turmoil  of  the  street.  Amid  the  bustle  of 
Holborn  he  had  a  curious  sensation  of  safety.  The  fiend 
so  suddenly  installed  in  his  consciousness  was  less  busy 
here  suggesting  strange  and  maddening  thoughts. 

Why  —  why  —  why  —  fifty  questions  beat  incessantly 
against  the  barrier  of  agonized  negation  he  strove  to  set  up, 
but  the  noise  of  traffic  made  the  attack  confused.  Each 
incautious  bump  against  a  passer-by  silenced  a  demand, 
each  heavy  crunch  of  a  'bus  on  the  gravel-strewed  roadway 
temporarily  silenced  a  doubt. 

He  was  so  unmanned  that  he  felt  almost  on  the  verge  of 
tears.  He  absolutely  dared  not  attempt  to  reason  out  the 
fearful  alternative  which  had  so  fiercely  thrust  itself  upon 
him. 

At  last  he  became  vaguely  aware  that  people  were  star- 
ing at  him.  Fearful  lest  some  acquaintance  should  recog- 
nize and  accost  him  he  hailed  a  hansom  and  drove  to  Vic- 
toria Street. 

All  the  way  the  heavy  beat  of  the  horse's  feet  served  to 
distract  his  thoughts.  He  forced  himself  to  count  the 
quick  paces,  and  tried  hard  to  accommodate  the  numerals 
of  two  or  more  syllables  to  the  rapidity  of  the  animal's 
trot.  He  failed  in  this,  but  in  the  failure  found  relief. 

Nevertheless,  though  the  horse  was  willing  and  the 
driver  eager  to  oblige  a  fare  who  gave  a  "  good  "  address, 
the  time  seemed  interminable  until  the  cab  stopped  in 
front  of  his  door. 

[252] 


Lady  Helen  Montgomery's  Son 

Once  arrived  there,  he  slowly  ascended  the  stairs  to  his 
own  flat,  told  Smith  to  pay  the  cabman  half-a-crown  and 
to  admit  no  one,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

At  last  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  troublous  demon 
who  possessed  him  in  Lincoln's  Inn,  struggled  with  him 
through  the  crowd,  and  travelled  with  him  in  the  hansom. 
Phyllis  Browne  should  have  her  answer  sooner  than  he 
had  expected. 

The  man  who  murdered  Lady  Dyke  was  her  own  hus- 
band. 

"Oh,  heavens!"  moaned  Bruce,  as  he  swayed  restlessly 
to  and  fro  in  his  chair,  "  is  it  possible  ?  " 

He  sat  there  for  hours.  Smith  entered,  turned  on  the 
lights  and  suggested  tea,  but  received  an  impatient  dis- 
missal. 

After  another  long  interval  Smith  appeared  again,  to 
announce  that  Mr.  White  had  called. 

"  Did  you  not  say  I  was  out  ? "  said  Claude,  his  hollow 
tones  and  haggard  air  startling  his  faithful  servitor  con- 
siderably. 

"Yes,  sir  —  oh  yes,  sir.  But  that's  no  use  with  Mr. 
White.  'E  said  as  'ow  'e  were  sure  you  were  in." 

"  Ask  him  to  oblige  me  by  coming  again  —  to-morrow. 
I  am  very  ill.  I  really  cannot  see  him." 

Smith  left  the  room  only  to  return  and  say:  "  Mr.  White 
says,  sir,  'is  business  is  of  the  hutmost  himportance.  'E 
can't  leave  it;  and  'e  says  you  will  be  very  sorry  afterwards 
if  you  don't  see  'im  now." 

"  Oh,  so  be  it,"  cried  Bruce,  turning  to  a  spirit-stand  to 
seek  sustenance  in  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy.  "  Send  him  in." 

Quite  awed  by  circumstances,  Smith  admitted  the  detec- 
tive and  closed  the  door  upon  the  two  men,  who  stood  looking 
at  each  other  without  a  word  of  greeting  or  explanation. 

[253] 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
MR.  WHITE'S  METHOD 

THE  policeman  spoke  first.  "Has  Jane  Harding  been 
here,  then?"  he  said. 

His  words  conveyed  no  meaning  to  his  hearer. 

They  were  so  incongruous,  so  ridiculously  unreasoning, 
that  Bruce  laughed  hysterically. 

"You  must  have  seen  her,"  cried  the  detective  excitedly. 
"  I  know  you  have  learned  the  truth,  and  in  no  other  way 
that  I  can  imagine  could  it  have  reached  you." 

"Learnt  what  truth?" 

"That  Sir  Charles  Dyke  himself  is  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this  business." 

"Indeed.  How  have  you  blundered  upon  that  solu- 
tion?" 

"Mr.  Bruce,  this  time  I  am  right,  and  you  know  it.  It 
was  Sir  Charles  Dyke  who  killed  his  wife.  Nobody  else 
had  anything  else  to  do  with  it,  so  far  as  I  can  guess.  But 
if  you  haven't  seen  Jane  Harding,  I  wonder  how  you 
found  out." 

"You  are  speaking  in  riddles.     Pray  explain  yourself." 

"If  Sir  Charles  Dyke  had  not  been  out  of  town,  the 
riddle  would  have  been  answered  by  this  time  in  the  easiest 
way,  as  I  should  have  locked  him  up." 

"Excellent.     You  remain  faithful  to  tradition." 

"Mr.  Bruce,  please  don't  try  to  humbug  me,  for  the 

[254] 


Mr.  Whites  Method 

sake  of  your  friend.  I  am  quite  in  earnest.  I  have  come 
to  you  for  advice.  Sir  Charles  Dyke  is  guilty  enough." 

"  And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"To  help  me  to  adopt  the  proper  course.  The  whole 
thing  seems  so  astounding  that  I  can  hardly  trust  my  own 
senses.  I  spoke  hastily  just  now.  I  would  not  have 
touched  Sir  Charles  before  consulting  you.  I  was  never 
in  such  a  mixed-up  condition  in  my  life." 

Whatever  the  source  of  his  information,  the  detective 
had  evidently  arrived  at  the  same  conclusion  as  Bruce 
himself.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  endeavor  to 
reason  out  the  situation  calmly  and  follow  the  best  method 
of  dealing  with  it  suggested  by  their  joint  intelligence. 
Claude  motioned  the  detective  to  a  chair,  imposed  silence 
by  a  look,  and  summoned  Smith.  He  was  faint  from 
want  of  food.  With  returning  equanimity  he  resolved 
first  to  restore  his  strength,  as  he  would  need  all  his  powers 
to  wrestle  with  events  before  he  slept  that  night. 

Mr.  White,  nothing  loth,  joined  him  in  a  simple  meal, 
and  by  tacit  consent  no  reference  was  made  to  the  one  en- 
grossing topic  in  their  thoughts  until  the  table  was  cleared. 

"And  now,  Mr.  White,"  demanded  the  barrister,  "what 
have  you  found  out  ?  " 

"During  the  last  two  days,"  he  replied,  "I  have  been 
unsuccessfully  trying  to  trace  Colonel  Montgomery.  No 
matter  what  I  did  I  failed.  I  got  hold  of  several  of  Mrs. 
Hillmer's  tradespeople,  but  she  always  paid  her  bills  with 
her  own  checques,  and  none  of  them  had  ever  heard  of  a 
Colonel  Montgomery.  That  furniture  business  puzzled 
me  a  lot  —  the  change  of  the  drawing-room  set  from  one 
flat  to  another  on  November  7, 1  mean.  So  I  discovered 
the  address  of  the  people  who  supplied  the  new  articles  to 
Mrs.  Milliner—  " 

[255] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"How?" 

"  Through  the  maid,  Dobson.  Mrs.  Hillmer  has  given 
her  notice  to  leave,  and  the  girl  is  furious  about  it,  as  she 
appears  to  have  had  a  very  easy  place  there.  I  think  it 
came  to  Mrs.  Hillmer's  ears  that  she  talked  to  me." 

"I  see.     Proceed." 

"Here  I  hit  upon  a  slight  clue.  It  was  a  gentleman 
who  ordered  the  new  furniture,  and  directed  the  transfer 
of  the  articles  replaced  from  No.  61  to  No.  12  Raleigh 
Mansions.  He  did  this  early  in  the  morning  of  Novem- 
ber 7,  and  the  foreman  in  charge  of  the  job  remembered 
that  there  was  some  bother  about  it,  as  neither  Mrs.  Hill- 
mer nor  Mr.  Corbett,  as  Mensmore  used  to  be  called, 
knew  anything  about  it.  But  the  gentleman  came  the 
same  morning  and  explained  matters.  It  struck  the  fore- 
man as  funny  that  there  should  be  such  a  fearful  hurry 
about  refurnishing  a  drawing-room,  for  the  gentleman  did 
not  care  what  the  cost  was  so  long  as  the  job  was  carried 
out  at  express  speed.  Another  odd  thing  was  that  Mrs. 
Hillmer  paid  for  the  articles,  though  she  had  not  ordered 
them  nor  did  she  appear  to  want  them.  The  man  was 
quite  sure  that  Mensmore's  first  knowledge  of  the  affair 
came  with  the  arrival  of  the  first  batch  of  articles  from 
Mrs.  Hillmer's  flat,  but  he  could  only  describe  the  mys- 
terious agent  as  being  a  regular  swell.  He  afterwards 
identified  a  portrait  of  Sir  Charles  Dyke  as  being  exactly 
like  the  man  he  had  seen,  if  not  the  man  himself." 

"  How  did  you  come  to  have  a  portrait  of  Sir  Charles  in 
your  possession  ?  " 

"  That  appears  later,"  said  the  detective,  full  of  profes- 
sional pride  at  the  undoubtedly  smart  manner  in  which  he 
had  manipulated  his  facts  once  they  were  placed  in  order 
before  him. 

[256] 


Mr.  White's  Method 

"Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "I  jumped  at  the  conclusion 
that  the  stranger  was  this  Colonel  Montgomery.  Then, 
while  closely  questioning  the  maid  about  the  events  of 
November  7,  she  suddenly  remembered  that  she  lost  an 
old  skirt  and  coat  about  that  time.  They  had  vanished 
from  her  room,  and  she  had  never  laid  eyes  on  them  since. 
This  set  me  thinking.  I  confronted  her  with  the  clothes 
worn  by  Lady  Dyke  when  she  was  found  in  the  river,  and 
I'm  jiggered  if  Dobson  didn't  recognize  them  at  once  as 
being  her  missing  property.  Now,  wasn't  that  a  rum  go  ?  " 

"It  certainly  was,"  said  Bruce,  who  was  piecing  to- 
gether the  story  of  the  murder  in  his  mind  as  each  addi- 
tional detail  came  to  light. 

"Naturally  I  thought  harder  than  ever  after  that.  It 
then  occurred  to  me  that  Jane  Harding  must  have  had 
some  powerful  reasons  for  so  suddenly  shutting  up  about 
the  identification  of  her  mistress's  underclothing.  She 
was  right  enough,  as  we  know,  in  regard  to  the  skirt  and 
coat,  but  she  admitted  to  me  that  the  linen  on  the  dead 
body  was  just  the  same  as  Lady  Dyke's.  Curiously 
enough,  it  was  not  marked  by  initials,  crest,  or  laundry- 
mark,  and  I  ascertained  months  ago  that  owing  to  some 
fad  of  her  ladyship's,  all  the  family  washing  was  done  on 
the  estate  in  Yorkshire.  This  explained  the  absence  of 
the  otherwise  inevitable  laundry-mark." 

"Thus  far  you  are  coherence  itself." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  White  complacently,  "I  was  a  long 
time  getting  to  work,  Mr.  Bruce,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
your  help  I  should  probably  never  have  got  at  the  truth, 
but  I  flatter  myself  that,  once  on  the  right  track,  I  seldom 
leave  it.  However,  as  I  was  saying,  I  felt  that  Jane  Hard- 
ing knew  a  good  deal  more  than  she  would  tell,  except 
under  pressure,  so  I  decided  to  put  that  pressure  on." 

[257] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"In  what  way?" 

"  I  frightened  her.  Played  off  on  her  a  bit  of  the  stage 
business  she  is  so  fond  of.  This  afternoon  I  placed  a  pair 
of  handcuffs  in  my  pocket  and  went  to  her  place  at  Blooms- 
bury,  having  previously  prepared  a  bogus  warrant  for  her 
arrest  on  a  charge  of  complicity  in  the  murder  of  Lady 
Dyke." 

"  It  was  a  dangerous  game ! " 

"Very.  If  it  had  gone  wrong  and  reached  the  ears  of 
the  Commissioner  or  got  into  the  papers,  I  should  have 
been  reduced  or  dismissed.  But  what  is  a  policeman  to 
do  in  such  cases  ?  I  was  losing  my  temper  over  this  in- 
fernal inquiry  and  never  obtaining  any  real  light,  though 
always  coming  across  startling  developments.  It  had  to 
end  somehow,  and  I  took  the  chance.  The  make-believe 
warrant  and  the  production  of  handcuffs  for  a  woman 
—  they  are  never  used,  you  know,  in  reality  —  have 
often  been  trump-cards  for  us  when  everything  else 
failed." 

"  This  time,  then,  the  'properties'  made  up  the  'show,' 
as  Miss  Harding  would  put  it  ?  " 

"They  did,  and  no  mistake.  I  gave  her  no  time  to 
think  or  act.  I  found  her  sitting  with  her  mother,  ad- 
miring a  new  carpet  she  had  just  laid  down.  I  said,  '  Is 
your  name  Jane  Harding,  now  engaged  at  the  Jollity 
Theatre,  under  the  alias  of  Marie  le  Marchant,  but  for- 
merly a  maid  in  the  service  of  Lady  Dyke  ? '  She  grew 
very  white,  and  said  '  Yes,'  while  her  mother  clutched  hold 
of  her,  terrified.  Then  I  whipped  out  the  warrant  and 
the  cuffs.  My,  but  you  should  have  heard  them  squeal 
when  the  bracelets  clinked  together.  '  What  has  my  child 
done  ? '  screamed  the  mother.  '  Perhaps  nothing,  madam,' 
I  answered;  'but  she  is  guilty  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  just 

[258] 


Mr.  White's  Method 

the  same  if  she  persists  in  screening  the  guilty  parties.' 
Jane  Harding  was  trembling  and  blubbering,  but  she  said, 
'It  is  very  hard  on  me.  I  have  done  nothing.'  I  trem- 
bled myself  then,  as  I  feared  that  she  might  offer  to  come 
with  me  to  the  police  station,  in  which  case  I  should  have 
been  dished.  But  the  mother  fixed  the  affair  splendidly. 
'I  am  sure  my  daughter  will  not  conceal  anything,'  she 
said, '  and  it  is  a  shame  to  disgrace  her  in  this  way  without 
telling  what  it  is  you  want  to  know.'  I  took  the  cue  in  an 
instant.  '  I  am  empowered,'  I  said, '  to  suspend  this  war- 
rant, and  perhaps  do  away  with  it  altogether,  if  she  an- 
swers my  questions  fully  and  truthfully.'  'Why,  of 
course  she  will,'  said  the  mother,  and  the  girl,  though 
desperately  upset,  whimpered  her  agreement.  With  that 
I  got  the  whole  story." 

"Sir  Charles  Dyke  inspired  her  actions,  I  suppose." 
"  From  the  very  beginning  almost.  At  first  Jane  Hard- 
ing herself  believed,  when  she  gave  evidence  at  the  in- 
quest, that  the  body  she  saw  was  not  that  of  Lady  Dyke; 
but  afterwards  she  changed  her  opinion,  especially  when 
she  recalled  the  exact  pattern  and  materials  of  the  under- 
clothing. Then  my  inquiries  put  her  on  the  scent.  Being 
rather  a  sharp  girl,  she  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  Sir 
Charles  knew  more  about  the  matter  than  he  professed. 
In  any  case,  her  place  was  gone,  and  she  would  soon  be 
dismissed,  so  she  resolved  on  a  plan  even  bolder  than  mine 
in  threatening  to  lock  her  up.  She  watched  her  oppor- 
tunity, found  Sir  Charles  alone  one  day,  and  told  him  that 
from  certain  things  within  her  knowledge,  she  thought  it 
her  duty  to  go  to  the  police-station.  He  was  startled,  she 
could  see,  and  asked  her  to  explain  herself.  She  said  that 
her  mistress  had  been  killed,  and  she  might  be  able  to  put 
the  police  on  the  right  track.  He  hesitated,  not  knowing 

[259] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

what  to  say;  so  she  hinted  that  it  would  mean  a  lot  of 
trouble  for  her,  and  she  would  prefer,  if  she  had  £500,  to 
go  to  America,  and  let  the  matter  drop  altogether.  He 
told  her  that  he  did  not  desire  to  have  Lady  Dyke's  name 
brought  into  public  notoriety.  Sooner  than  to  allow  such 
a  thing  to  occur  he  would  give  her  the  money.  An  hour 
later  he  handed  her  fifty  ten-pound  notes." 

"  What  a  wretched  mistake,"  cried  Bruce  involuntarily. 
This  unmasking  of  his  unfortunate  friend's  duplicity  was 
the  most  painful  feature  of  all  to  him. 

"  Perhaps  it  was,"  replied  the  detective,  "  but  the  thing 
is  not  yet  quite  clear  to  me.  That  is  why  I  am  here.  But 
to  continue.  The  girl  admitted  that  she  lost  her  head  a 
bit.  Instead  of  leaving  the  house  openly,  without  attract- 
ing comment,  she  simply  bolted,  thus  giving  rise  to  the 
second  sensational  element  attending  Lady  Dyke's  dis- 
appearance. But  she  resolved  to  be  faithful  to  her  prom- 
ise. When  you  found  her  she  held  her  tongue,  and  even 
wrote  to  Sir  Charles  to  assure  him  that  she  had  not  spoken 
a  word  to  a  soul.  He  sent  for  her,  and  pitched  into  her 
about  not  going  to  America,  but  took  her  address  in  case 
he  wished  to  see  her  again." 

"  He  recognized  her  letter-writing  powers,  no  doubt." 

"  Evidently.  She  was  surprised  last  Thursday  week  to 
receive  a  telegram  asking  her  to  meet  him  at  York  Station. 
When  she  arrived  there  he  asked  her  to  write  the  letter  he 
handed  to  you  and  to  post  it  in  London  on  Saturday  even- 
ing. He  explained  that  his  action  was  due  to  his  keen 
anxiety  to  shield  his  wife's  name,  and  that  this  letter  would 
settle  the  affair  altogether.  As  he  handed  her  another 
bundle  of  notes,  and  promised  to  settle  £100  a  year  on  her 
for  life,  she  was  willing  enough  to  help  him.  During  your 
interview  with  her  you  guessed  the  reason  why  she  wrote 

[260] 


Mr.  White  s  Method 

Lady  Dyke's  hand  so  perfectly.     She  had  copied  it  for 
three  years." 

"  All  this  must  have  astonished  you  considerably  ?  " 
"  Mr.  Bruce,  astonished  isn't  the  word.  I  was  flabber- 
gasted! Once  she  started  talking  I  let  her  alone,  only 
rattling  the  handcuffs  when  she  seemed  inclined  to  stop. 
But  all  the  time  I  felt  as  if  the  top  of  my  head  had  been 
blown  off." 

"  I  imagine  she  had  not  much  more  to  tell  you  ? " 
"She  pitched  into  you  as  the  cause  of  all  the  mischief, 
and  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  she  was  sure  it  was  not  Sir 
Charles  who  killed  Lady  Dyke,  but  you  yourself." 

Bruce  winced  at  Jane  Harding's  logic.  Were  he  able 
to  retrieve  the  past  three  months  the  mystery  of  Lady 
Dyke's  death  would  have  remained  a  mystery  forever. 

"Now  about  the  photograph,"  said  the  detective. 
"  After  I  had  left  Jane  Harding  with  a  solemn  warning  to 
speak  to  no  one  until  I  saw  her  again,  I  made  a  round  of 
the  fashionable  photographers  and  soon  obtained  an  ex- 
cellent likeness  of  Sir  Charles.  I  showed  it  to  Dobson, 
and  she  said:  'That  is  Colonel  Montgomery.'  I  showed 
it  to  the  foreman  of  the  furniture  warehouse,  and  he  said: 
'  That  is  the  image  of  the  man  who  ordered  Mrs.  Hillmer's 
suite.'  Now,  what  on  earth  is  the  upshot  of  this  business 
to  be  ?  I  called  at  Wensley  House,  but  was  told  Sir 
Charles  was  not  in  town.  Had  he  been  in,  I  would 
not  have  seen  him  until  I  had  discussed  matters  with 

you." 

"That  is  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  White.  May  I  ask 
your  reason  for  showing  him  this  consideration  ? " 

The  policeman,  who  was  very  earnest  and  very  excited, 
banged  his  hand  on  the  table  as  he  cried: 

"  Don't  you  see  what  all  this  amounts  to  ?    I  have  no 

[261] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

option  but  to  arrest  Sir  Charles  Dyke  for  the  murder  of 
his  wife." 

"  That  is  a  sad  conclusion." 

"  And  do  you  believe  he  killed  her  ?  " 

"  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  I  do  not." 

"And  I'm  jiggered  if  I  do  either." 

"I  —  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you,  White." 

Claude  bent  his  head  almost  to  his  knees,  and  for  some 
minutes  there  was  complete  silence.  When  he  again 
looked  at  the  detective  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  can  we  do  to  unravel  this  tangled  skein  without 
creating  untold  mischief  ?  "  he  murmured. 

"It  beats  me,  sir,"  was  the  perplexed  answer.  "But 
when  I  came  in  I  imagined  that  Jane  Harding  or  some 
one  had  been  to  see  you.  Surely,  you  had  learned  some- 
thing of  all  this  before  my  arrival  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.  I  had  reached  your  goal,  but  by  a  differ- 
ent route.  Unfortunately,  my  discovery  only  goes  to 
confirm  yours." 

Bruce  then  told  him  of  his  visit  to  the  lawyer's  office, 
and  its  result.  Mr.  White  listened  to  the  recital  with 
knitted  brows. 

"  It  is  very  clear,"  he  said,  when  the  barrister  had  ended, 
"that  Lady  Dyke  was  killed  in  Mrs.  Hillmer's  flat,  that 
Sir  Charles  knew  of  her  death,  that  he  himself  conveyed 
the  body  to  the  river  bank  at  Putney,  and  that  ever  since 
he  has  tried  to  throw  dust  in  our  eyes  and  prevent  any 
knowledge  of  the  true  state  of  affairs  reaching  us." 

"  Your  summary  cannot  be  disputed  in  the  least  par- 
ticular." 

"Well,  Mr.  Bruce,  we  must  do  something.  If  you  don't 
like  to  interfere,  then  7  must." 

"There  is  but  one  person  in  the  world  who  can  en- 

[262] 


Mr.  Whites  Method 

lighten  us  as  to  the  facts.  That  person  obviously  is  Sir 
Charles  Dyke  himself." 

"  Unquestionably." 

Bruce  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  10.30  P.M.  He 
rose. 

"  Let  us  go  to  him,"  he  said. 

"  But  he  is  not  in  London." 

"  He  is.  I  expect  you  will  find  that  he  gave  orders  for 
no  one  to  be  admitted,  and  told  the  servants  to  say  he  had 
left  town  to  make  the  denial  more  emphatic." 

"  It  will  be  a  terrible  business,  I  fear,  Mr.  Bruce." 

"  I  dread  it  —  on  my  soul  I  do.  But  I  cannot  shirk  this 
final  attempt  to  save  my  friend.  My  presence  may  tend 
to  help  forward  a  final  and  full  explanation.  No  matter 
what  the  pain  to  myself,  I  must  be  present.  Come,  it  is 
late  already!" 


[263] 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
SIR  CHARLES  DYKE'S  JOURNEY 

THE  streets  were  comparatively  deserted  as  they  drove 
quickly  up  Whitehall  and  crossed  the  south  side  of  Trafal- 
gar Square.  It  is  a  common  belief,  even  among  London- 
ers themselves,  that  the  traffic  is  dense  in  the  main  thor- 
oughfares at  all  hours  of  the  night  until  twelve  o'clock  has 
long  past. 

But  to  the  experienced  eye  there  is  a  marked  hiatus  be- 
tween half-past  nine  and  eleven  o'clock.  At  such  a  time 
Charing  Cross  is  negotiable,  Piccadilly  Circus  loses  much 
of  its  terror,  and  a  hansom  may  turn  out  of  Regent  Street 
into  Oxford  Street  without  the  fare  being  impelled  to 
clutch  convulsively  at  the  brass  window-slide  in  a  make- 
believe  effort  to  save  the  vehicle  from  being  crushed  like  a 
walnut  shell  between  two  heavy  'buses. 

Such  considerations  did  not  appeal  to  the  barrister  and 
his  companion  on  this  occasion. 

For  some  inexplicable  cause  they  both  felt  that  they 
were  in  a  desperate  hurry. 

A  momentary  stoppage  at  the  turn  into  Orchard  Street 
caused  each  man  to  swear,  quite  unconsciously.  Now 
that  the  supreme  moment  in  this  most  painful  investi- 
gation was  at  hand  they  resented  the  slightest  delay. 
Though  they  were  barely  fifteen  minutes  in  the  cab,  it 
seemed  an  hour  before  they  alighted  at  Wensley  House, 
Portman  Square. 

[264] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke's  Journey 

In  response  to  an  imperative  ring  a  footman  appeared. 
Instead  of  answering  the  barrister's  question  as  to  whether 
Sir  Charles  was  at  home  or  not,  he  said:  "You  are  Mr. 
Bruce,  sir,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Sir  Charles  is  at  home,  but  he  retired  to  his  room  be- 
fore dinner.  He  is  not  well,  and  he  may  have  gone  to  bed, 
but  he  said  that  if  you  came  you  were  to  be  admitted.  I 
will  ask  Mr.  Thompson." 

"Better  send  Thompson  to  me,"  said  Bruce  decisively; 
and  in  a  minute  the  old  butler  stood  before  him. 

"  I  hear  that  Sir  Charles  has  retired  for  the  night,"  said 
Claude. 

Thompson  had  caught  sight  of  the  detective  standing 
on  the  steps.  A  few  hours  earlier  he  had  himself  told  him 
that  the  baronet  was  out  of  town.  It  was  an  awkward 
dilemma,  and  he  coughed  doubtingly  while  he  racked  his 
brains  for  a  judicious  answer. 

But  Bruce  grasped  his  difficulty.  "It  is  all  right, 
Thompson.  Mr.  White  quite  understands  the  position. 
Do  you  think  Sir  Charles  is  in  bed  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  and  see,  sir.  He  was  very  anxious  that  you 
should  be  sent  upstairs  if  you  called.  But  that  was  when 
he  was  in  the  library." 

Bruce  and  the  detective  entered  the  hall,  the  butler 
closed  the  door  behind  them,  and  then  solemnly  ascended 
the  stairs  to  Sir  Charles  Dyke's  bedroom,  which  was  sit- 
uated on  the  first  floor  along  a  corridor  towards  the  back 
of  the  house. 

They  distinctly  heard  the  polite  knock  at  the  door  and 
Thompson's  query,  "Are  you  asleep,  Sir  Charles?" 

After  a  pause,  there  was  another  knock,  and  the  same 
question  in  a  slightly  louder  key. 

[265] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Then  the  butler  returned,  saying  as  he  came  down  the 
stairs : 

"  Sir  Charles  seems  to  be  sound  asleep,  sir." 

Bruce  and  the  detective  exchanged  glances.  The  bar- 
rister was  disappointed,  almost  perturbed,  but  he  said: 

"In  that  case  we  will  not  disturb  him.  Sir  Charles 
does  not  often  retire  so  early." 

"  No,  sir.  I  have  never  known  him  to  go  to  his  room  so 
early  before.  He  told  me  not  to  serve  dinner,  as  he  wasn't 
well.  He  would  not  let  me  get  anything  for  him.  He  just 
took  some  wine,  and  I  have  not  seen  him  since." 

"Since  when?" 

"About  7.30,  sir." 

Bruce  turned  to  depart,  but  Thompson,  with  the  privi- 
lege of  an  old  servant  when  talking  to  one  whom  he  knew 
to  be  on  familiar  terms  with  his  master,  whispered: 

"That  there  blessed  maid  turned  up  again  this  after- 
noon, sir." 

The  barrister  started  violently. 

"  Not  Jane  Harding,  surely  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  She  came  at  four  o'clock  and  asked  for  Sir 
Charles,  as  bold  as  brass." 

"Did  he  see  her?" 

"Oh  yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  White  ?" 

The  detective  nodded. 

"She  must  have  reached  the  house  about  half-an-hour 
before  me,"  he  said,  addressing  the  butler. 

"That's  about  right,  sir." 

"But  I  understood,"  went  on  Bruce,  "that  Sir  Charles 
was  not  at  home  to  ordinary  callers  ?  " 

Thompson  shuffled  about  somewhat  uneasily.  He 
wished  now  he  had  held  his  tongue. 

[266] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke's  Journey 

"  I  had  my  orders,  sir,"  lie  murmured,  in  extenuation  of 
his  apparently  diverse  actions. 

"  Tell  me  what  your  orders  were,"  persisted  Bruce. 

The  man  hesitated,  not  wishful  to  offend  his  master's 
friend,  but  too  well  trained  to  reveal  the  explicit  instruc- 
tions given  him  by  Sir  Charles  Dyke. 

"Do  not  be  afraid.  I  will  explain  everything  to  Sir 
Charles  personally.  We  cannot  best  judge  what  to  do  — 
whether  to  wake  him  or  not  —  unless  we  know  the  posi- 
tion," went  on  the  barrister. 

Thus  absolved  from  blame,  Thompson  took  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket  a  folded  sheet  of  notepaper. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  understand  the  reason,  sir,"  he  said, 
"  but  Sir  Charles  wrote  this  himself,  and  told  me  to  be  care- 
ful to  obey  him  exactly." 

The  barrister  eagerly  grasped  the  note  and  read: 

"  If  Mr.  Bruce,  Jane  Harding,  or  Mrs.  Hillmer  should 
call,  admit  any  of  them  immediately.  To  all  others  say 
that  I  have  left  town  —  some  days  ago,  should  they  ask 
you.  C.  D." 

White,  round-eyed  and  bullet-headed,  gazed  with  goggle 
orbs  over  Bruce's  shoulder. 

"That  settles  it,  Mr.  Bruce,"  he  said.  "We  must  see 
him." 

"Thompson,"  said  Bruce,  "does  Sir  Charles  usually 
lock  his  door  ?  " 

"  Never,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Knock  again,  and  then  try  the  door.  We 
will  go  with  you." 

Something  in  the  barrister's  manner  rather  than  his 
words  sent  a  cold  shiver  down  the  old  butler's  spine. 

"I  do  hope  there's  nothing  wrong,  sir,"  he  commenced; 

[267] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

but  Bruce  was  already  half-way  up  the  stairs.  Both  he 
and  White  guessed  what  had  happened.  They  knew  that 
poor  Thompson's  repeated  summons  at  the  bedroom  door 
would  remain  forever  unanswered  —  that  the  unfortunate 
baronet  had  quitted  the  dread  certainties  of  this  world  for 
the  uncertainties  of  the  next. 

They  were  not  mistaken.  A  few  minutes  later  they 
found  him  listlessly  drooping  over  the  side  of  the  chair  in 
which  he  was  seated,  partly  undressed,  and  seemingly 
overcome  at  the  moment  when  he  was  about  to  take  off 
his  boots. 

On  a  table  near  him  were  two  bottles,  both  half-emptied, 
and  an  empty  wineglass.  Each  of  the  bottles  bore  the 
label  of  a  well-known  chemist.  One  was  endorsed  "  Sleep- 
ing-draught," the  other  "  Poison,"  and  "  Chloral." 

The  three  men  were  pale  as  the  limp,  inanimate  form  in 
the  chair  while  they  silently  noted  these  details.  Bruce 
raised  the  head  of  his  friend  in  the  hope  that  life  might  not 
yet  be  extinct.  But  Sir  Charles  Dyke  had  taken  his 
measures  effectually.  Though  the  rigor  mortis  had  not 
set  in,  he  had  evidently  been  dead  some  time. 

Thompson,  quite  beside  himself  with  grief,  dropped  to 
his  knees  by  his  master's  side. 

"  Sir  Charles ! "  he  wailed.  "  Sir  Charles !  For  the  love 
of  Heaven,  speak  to  us.  You  can't  be  dead.  Oh,  you 
can't.  It  ain't  fair.  You're  too  young  to  die.  What 
curse  has  come  upon  the  house  that  both  should  go  ?  " 

Bruce  leaned  over  and  shook  the  old  butler  firmly  by 
the  shoulder. 

"Thompson,"  he  said  impressively,  for  now  that  the 
crisis  he  feared  had  come  and  gone,  he  exercised  full  con- 
trol over  himself.  "Thompson,  if  you  ever  wished  to 
serve  Sir  Charles  you  must  do  so  now  by  remaining  calm. 

[268] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke's  Journey 

For  his  sake,  help  us,  and  do  not  create  an  unnecessary 
scene." 

Governed  by  the  more  powerful  nature,  the  affrighted 
man  struggled  to  his  feet. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  whimpered.  "  Shall  I  send  for  a 
doctor?" 

"Yes;  say  Sir  Charles  is  very  ill.  Not  a  word  to  a  soul 
about  what  has  happened  until  we  have  carefully  exam- 
ined the  room." 

At  that  instant  Mr.  White  caught  sight  of  a  large  and 
bulky  envelope,  which  had  fallen  to  the  floor  near  the  chair 
on  which  Sir  Charles  was  seated. 

Picking  it  up,  he  found  it  was  addressed,  "Claude 
Bruce,  Esq.  To  be  delivered  to  him  at  once" 

"This  will  explain  matters,  I  expect,"  said  the  detective. 

"  Whatever  could  have  come  to  my  master  to  do  such  a 
thing  ?  "  groaned  Thompson,  turning  to  reach  the  door. 

"  Come  back,"  cried  Bruce  sharply.  "  Now,  look  here, 
Thompson,"  he  went  on,  placing  both  his  hands  on  the 
butler's  shoulders  and  looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes, 
"it  is  imperative  that  you  should  pull  yourself  together. 
That  sort  of  remark  will  never  do.  Sir  Charles  has  simply 
taken  an  over-dose  of  chloral  accidentally.  He  has  slept 
badly  ever  since  Lady  Dyke's  death,  you  understand,  and 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  taking  sleeping-draughts.  Now, 
before  you  leave  the  room  tell  me  exactly  what  has  hap- 
pened, in  your  own  language." 

"I  can't  put  it  together  now,  sir,  but  I  won't  say  any- 
thing to  anybody c  You  can  trust  me  for  that.  Why,  I 
loved  him  as  my  own  son,  I  did." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  well.  But  remember.  An  overdose. 
An  accident.  Nothing  else.  Do  you  follow  me  ?  " 

"  Quite,  sir.     Heaven  help  us  all." 

[269] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"Very  well.  Now  send  for  the  doctor,  without  need- 
lessly alarming  the  other  servants." 

Bruce  placed  the  envelope  in  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat, 
saying  to  the  detective: 

"  We  will  examine  this  later,  White.  Just  now  we  must 
do  what  we  can  to  avoid  a  scandal.  The  case  between 
Lady  Dyke  and  her  husband  will  be  settled  by  a  higher 
tribunal  than  we  had  counted  upon." 

"It  certainly  looks  like  an  accident,  Mr.  Bruce,"  was 
the  answer,  "  but  it  all  depends  upon  the  view  the  doctor 
takes.  And  you  know,  of  course,  that  I  shall  have  to  re- 
port the  actual  facts  to  my  superiors." 

"That  is  obvious.  Yet  no  harm  is  done  at  this  early 
stage  in  taking  such  steps  as  may  finally  render  undue 
publicity  needless.  It  may  be  impossible ;  but  on  the  other 
hand,  until  we  have  heard  Sir  Charles's  version,  contained, 
I  suppose,  in  this  letter  to  me,  it  is  advisable  to  sustain  the 
theory  of  an  accidental  death." 

"  Anything  I  can  do  to  help  you  will  be  done,"  replied 
the  detective.  With  that  they  dropped  the  subject,  and 
more  carefully  scrutinized  the  room. 

To  all  intents  and  purposes  Sir  Charles  Dyke  might, 
indeed,  have  brought  about  the  catastrophe  inadvertently. 
The  sleeping-draught  bore  the  ledger  number  of  its  pre- 
scription, and  there  is  nothing  unusual  in  a  patient  striving 
to  help  the  cautious  dose  ordered  by  a  physician  by  the 
addition  of  a  more  powerful  nostrum. 

His  partly  dressed  state,  too,  argued  that  he  had  taken 
the  fatal  mixture  at  a  time  when  he  contemplated  retiring 
to  rest  forthwith.  A  fire  still  burned  in  the  grate.  On 
the  mantelpiece  —  in  a  position  where  the  baronet  must 
see  it  until  the  moment  when  all  things  faded  from  his 
vision  —  was  a  beautiful  miniature  of  his  wife. 

[270] 


Sir  Charles  Dykes  Journey 

The  detective,  with  professional  nonchalance,  soon  sat 
down.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  await  the  arrival  of 
the  doctor,  and,  having  heard  his  report,  go  home. 

In  the  quietude  of  the  room,  with  the  strain  relaxed, 
Bruce  was  profoundly  moved  by  the  spectacle  of  his  dead 
friend.  Whatever  his  logical  faculties  might  argue,  he 
could  not  regard  this  man  as  a  murderer.  If  Lady  Dyke 
met  her  death  at  his  hand  then  it  must  have  been  the  result 
of  some  terrible  mistake  —  of  some  momentary  outburst 
of  passion  which  never  contemplated  such  a  sequel. 

Poisons  which  kill  by  stupefaction  do  not  distort  their 
victims  as  in  cases  where  violent  irritants  are  used.  Sir 
Charles  Dyke  seemed  to  live  in  a  deep  sleep,  exhausted 
by  toil  or  pain — sleep  the  counterfeit  of  death — while  the 
bright  colors  and  speaking  eyes  of  the  miniature  counter- 
feited life.  Standing  between  these  two  —  both  the  mere 
images  of  the  man  and  the  woman  he  had  known  so  well 
—  the  barrister  insensibly  felt  that  at  last  they  had  peace. 

It  was  his  first  experience  of  the  tremendous  change  in 
the  relationship  established  by  death.  It  utterly  over- 
powered him.  No  mere  words  could  express  his  emotions. 
Between  him  and  those  that  had  been  was  imposed  the 
impenetrable  wall  of  eternity. 

A  bustle  in  the  hall  beneath  aroused  him  from  his  grief- 
stricken  stupor,  and  Mr.  White's  commonplace  tones 
sounded  strange  to  his  ears. 

"Here's  the  doctor." 

A  well-known  physician  hastened  to  the  room.  Thomp- 
son had  carefully  followed  instructions.  The  doctor  was 
not  prepared  for  the  condition  of  affairs  that  a  glance  re- 
vealed to  his  practised  eye. 

"Surely  he  is  not  dead?"  he  cried,  looking  from  the 
form  in  the  chair  to  the  two  men. 

[271] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Bruce  answered  him: 

"Yes,  for  some  hours,  I  fear,  but  we  wanted  to  avoid 
spreading  unnecessary  rumors  until  — " 

"I  understand.  My  poor  friend!  How  came  this  to 
happen  ? " 

The  skilled  practitioner  merely  lifted  one  of  the  dead 
man's  eyelids,  and  then  turned  to  examine  the  bottles  on 
the  table. 

"My  own  prescription,"  he  said,  after  tasting  the  con- 
tents of  one  phial.  "Ah,  this  was  bad;  why  did  he  not 
consult  me  ?  "  and  he  sadly  shook  his  head  as  he  tasted  the 
remaining  liquid  in  the  second. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it  ?  "  said  Bruce. 

He  looked  the  other  steadily  in  the  face  and  the  doctor 
interpreted  the  cause  of  his  anxiety. 

"  A  clear  case  of  accidental  poisoning,"  he  replied.  "  Sir 
Charles  has  consulted  me  several  times  during  the  past 
week  on  account  of  his  extreme  insomnia.  I  specifically 
warned  him  against  overdoing  my  treatment.  Change  of 
air,  exercise,  and  diet  are  the  true  specifics  for  sleepless- 
ness, especially  when  induced,  as  his  was,  by  a  morbid 
state  of  mind." 

"  You  mean— " 

"That  Sir  Charles  has  never  recovered  from  the  shock 
of  his  wife's  death.  I  did  not  know  of  it  myself  until  it 
was  announced  recently,  and  I  gathered  from  him  that  the 
manner  of  her  demise  was  partly  unaccounted  for.  Alto- 
gether, it  is  a  sad  business  that  such  a  couple  should  be 
taken  in  such  a  manner." 

Mr.  White  was  industriously  taking  notes  the  while, 
and  the  doctor  regarded  him  with  a  questioning  look. 

"This  gentleman  is  in  the  police,"  explained  Bruce. 

"Indeed!" 

[272] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke's  Journey 

"Yes.  We  came  here  by  mere  accident.  Mr.  White 
and  I  were  engaged  in  an  important  inquiry  —  the  cause 
of  Lady  Dyke's  disappearance,  in  fact  —  and  we  hurried 
here  at  a  late  hour  to  consult  with  Sir  Charles.  Hence 
our  presence  and  this  discovery." 

"How  strange!" 

"  There  is  no  reason  now,"  broke  in  the  detective,  "  why 
the  body  should  not  be  moved  ?  " 

Claude  shuddered  at  the  phrase.  It  suggested  the 
inevitable. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  am  quite  satisfied  as  to  the  cause 
of  death." 

The  despatch  of  telegrams  and  other  necessary  details 
kept  Bruce  busily  employed  until  two  o'clock.  Not  until 
he  reached  the  privacy  of  his  own  library  was  he  able  to 
break  the  seal  of  the  packet  left  for  him  as  the  final  act 
and  word  of  the  late  Sir  Charles  Dyke. 


[273] 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
HOW  LADY  DYKE  DISAPPEARED 

(Being  the  Manuscript  left  by  Sir  Charles  Dyke,  Bart.,  and 
addressed  to  Claude  Bruce,  Esq.,  Barrister-at-law) 

IT  is  customary,  I  believe,  for  poor  wretches  who  are 
sentenced  to  undergo  the  last  punishment  of  the  law  to  be 
allowed  a  three  weeks'  respite  between  the  date  of  their 
sentence  and  that  on  which  they  are  executed.  I  am  in 
the  position  of  such  a  one.  The  difference  between  me 
and  the  convicted  felon  lies  merely  in  environment;  in  most 
respects  I  am  worse  situated  than  he.  My  period  of  agony 
is  longer  drawn  out,  I  am  condemned  to  die  by  my  own 
hand,  I  am  mocked  by  the  surroundings  of  luxury,  taunted 
by  the  knowledge  that  though  life  and  even  a  sort  of  hap- 
piness are  within  my  reach  I  must  not  avail  myself  of  them. 

There  may  come  a  time  in  the  affairs  of  any  man  when 
he  is  compelled  to  choose  between  a  dishonored  existence 
and  voluntary  death.  These  unpleasant  alternatives  are 
now  before  me.  You,  who  know  me,  would  never  doubt 
which  of  them  I  should  adopt,  nor  will  you  upbraid  me 
because  our  judgments  coincide.  There  is  nothing  for  it, 
Bruce,  but  quiet  death  —  death  in  the  least  obtrusive 
form,  and  so  disposed  that  it  may  be  possible  for  you, 
chief  among  my  friends  and  the  only  person  I  can  trust  to 
fulfil  my  wishes,  to  arrange  that  my  memory  may  be  speed- 
ily forgotten.  My  virtues,  I  fear,  will  not  secure  me  im- 

[274] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Disappeared 

mortality;  my  faults,  I  hope,  will  not  be  spread  broadcast 
to  cram  the  maws  of  the  gaping  crowd. 

I  do  not  shirk  this  final  issue,  nor  do  I  crave  pity.  In 
setting  forth  plainly  the  history  of  my  wife's  death  and  its 
results,  I  am  actuated  solely  by  a  desire  to  protect  others 
from  needless  suspicion.  Having  resolved  to  pay  forfeit 
for  my  own  errors,  I  claim  to  have  expiated  them.  This 
document  is  an  explanation,  not  a  confession. 

I  have  not  much  time  left  wherein  fittingly  to  shape  my 
story  so  as  to  be  just  to  all,  myself  included.  If  I  am  not 
mistaken,  the  officers  of  the  law  are  in  hot  chase  of  me,  but 
my  statement  shall  not  be  made  to  an  earthly  judge.  The 
words  of  a  man  about  to  die  may  not  be  well  chosen ;  they 
should  at  least  be  true.  I  will  tell  of  events  as  nearly  as 
possible  in  their  sequence  of  time.  If  I  leave  gaps  through 
haste  or  forgetfulness  you  will,  from  your  own  knowledge 
of  the  facts,  readily  fill  them  up  once  you  are  in  possession 
of  the  salient  features. 

Mensmore  and  his  sister  were  the  friends  of  my  early 
years.  We  played  together  as  children.  Gwendoline 
Mensmore  was  two  years  younger  than  I,  and  I  well  re- 
member making  love  to  her  at  the  age  of  eleven.  Her 
mother  died  when  she  was  quite  a  baby,  and  her  father 
married  again,  so  her  step-brother  Albert  is  her  junior  by 
four  years.  I  taught  him  how  to  ride  and  swim  and  play 
cricket.  My  father's  place  in  Surrey  —  we  did  not  ac- 
quire the  Yorkshire  property  until  the  death  of  my  grand- 
father —  adjoined  the  estate  General  Mensmore  occupied 
after  his  retirement  from  the  army. 

We  children  always  called  Gwendoline  "Dick,"  to 
avoid  the  difficulty  of  her  long-sounding  name,  I  suppose, 
and  I  honestly  believe  that  our  respective  parents  enter- 
tained the  idea  that  a  marriage  between  us  was  quite  a 

[275] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

natural  thing.  I  went  to  school  at  Brighton,  and  Mens- 
more,  being  a  somewhat  precocious  lad,  joined  the  same 
school  before  I  left.  The  headmaster,  the  Rev.  Septimus 
Childe,  was  an  old  friend  of  my  father's,  and  when  he 
wished  to  purchase  a  house  at  Putney  —  the  terrible  house 
which  has  figured  in  my  dreams  for  the  past  three  months 
as  a  Place  of  Skulls  —  my  parents  put  pressure  on  my 
mother's  trustees  to  make  the  transaction  an  easy  one. 
Of  course,  I  knew  it  well.  We  regarded  it  in  those  early 
days  as  a  town  house,  and  always  lived  there  during  the 
season. 

My  father's  succession  to  the  title  and  estates  changed 
all  that.  We  quitted  Surrey  for  Yorkshire,  and  Wensley 
House,  Portman  Square,  was  a  step  upwards  from  the 
barrack-like  building  which  so  admirably  suited  Mr. 
Childe's  requirements. 

When  I  was  at  Sandhurst  General  Mensmore  got  into 
difficulties.  He  quitted  Surrey,  and  we  gradually  lost 
sight  of  him  and  his  children.  Afterwards  I  knew  that  he 
struggled  on  for  a  few  years,  placed  his  son  in  the  army, 
and  then  came  a  complete  collapse,  ending  in  his  death 
and  the  boy's  resignation  of  his  commission.  Of  Gwen- 
doline Mensmore' s  whereabouts  I  knew  nothing.  Her 
memory  never  quitted  me,  but  the  new  interests  in  my  life 
dulled  it.  I  imagined  that  I  could  laugh  at  a  childish 
infatuation. 

Then  I  married.  I  did  so  in  obedience  to  my  father's 
wishes,  and  Alice  was,  I  suppose,  an  ideal  wife  —  far  too 
ideal  for  a  youngster  of  my  lower  intellectual  plane.  I 
know  now  that  I  never  had  any  real  affection  for  her.  I 
was  always  somewhat  awed  by  her  loftier  aspirations.  My 
interests  lay  in  racing,  hunting,  sports  generally,  and  hav- 
ing what  I  defined  as  "a  good  time."  She,  though  an  ex- 

[276] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Disappeared 

cellent  horsewoman,  and  in  every  sense  an  admirable 
hostess,  thought  Newmarket  vulgar,  treated  Ascot  as  a 
social  necessity,  and  turned  up  her  eyebrows  at  me  when 
I  failed  to  see  any  utility  in  schemes  for  the  reclamation 
of  the  submerged  tenth. 

Thus,  though  we  never  quarrelled,  we  gradually  drifted 
apart.  She  knew  she  bored  me  if  she  asked  me  to  inspect 
a  model  dwelling;  I  knew  she  hated  the  people  who  were 
the  companions  of  a  coaching  tour  or  a  week  at  Goodwood. 
Unfortunately,  we  were  not  blessed  with  offspring.  Had 
it  been  otherwise,  we  might  have  found  a  common  object 
of  interest  in  our  children. 

Insensibly,  we  agreed  to  a  separate  existence.  We  lived 
together  as  friends  rather  than  as  husband  and  wife.  We 
parted  without  regret  and  met  without  cordiality.  Do 
not  think  we  were  unhappy.  If  our  marriage  was  not 
bliss,  it  was  at  least  comfortable.  I  think  my  wife  was 
proud  of  my  successes  on  the  turf  in  a  quiet  kind  of  way, 
and  I  certainly  was  proud  of  her  and  of  the  high  reputa- 
tion she  enjoyed  among  all  classes  of  society.  I  even 
reverenced  her  for  it,  and  I  well  knew  that  the  enthusiastic 
receptions  given  us  by  our  Yorkshire  tenantry  were  not 
due  to  my  efforts  in  their  behalf,  but  to  hers. 

So  we  lived  for  nearly  six  years,  and  so  we  might  have 
continued  for  sixty  had  I  not  met  Gwendoline  Mensmore 
again,  under  vastly  changed  circumstances.  She  was  a 
chorus-girl  in  a  variety  theatre,  earning  a  poor  living  under 
wretched  conditions.  I  discovered  the  fact  by  mere  chance. 

I  met  her,  and  she  told  me  her  story  —  how  she  had 
married  a  man  named  Hillmer,  whom  her  father  had 
trusted,  and  whom  she  believed  to  be  able  to  save  them 
from  ruin.  Then  the  crash  came.  Her  father  died;  her 
husband  also  broke  down  financially,  took  to  drink  and 

[277] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

ill-treated  her;  her  brother  was  swallowed  up  somewhere 
in  the  Far  West.  She  had  no  alternative  but  to  live  apart 
from  her  husband  and  try  to  support  herself  by  the  first 
career  that  suggests  itself  to  a  young,  talented,  and  beauti- 
ful woman.  But  she  was  already  weary  of  the  stage  and 
its  distasteful  surroundings.  Her  nature  was  too  delicate 
for  the  rude  friendships  of  the  dressing-room.  She  shud- 
dered at  the  thought  of  a  mild  carousal  in  a  bar  when  the 
labors  of  the  night  were  ended. 

In  a  word,  were  I  differently  constituted,  were  she  cast 
in  more  common  mould,  there  was  apparently  ready  to 
hand  all  the  material  for  a  vulgar  liaison. 

My  respect  for  my  wife,  however,  no  less  than  Mrs.  Hill- 
mer's  fine  disposition,  saved  both  of  us  from  folly.  Yet  I 
could  not  leave  her  exposed  to  the  exigencies  of  a  life  in 
which  she  was  rapidly  becoming  disillusioned.  Away  in 
the  depths  of  my  heart  I  knew  that  this  sweet  woman  was 
my  true  mate,  separated  from  me  by  adverse  chance. 
There  was  nothing  unfair  to  Alice  in  the  thought.  Were 
she  questioned  at  any  time,  I  suppose,  she  must  have  ad- 
mitted that  we  were,  in  some  respects,  as  ill-matched  a 
couple  as  we  were  well-matched  in  others.  You  will  say 
that  I  understood  but  little  of  feminine  nature  —  nothing 
at  all  of  my  wife's. 

How  best  to  help  Mrs.  Hillmer  —  that  was  the  question. 
It  was  at  this  stage  I  made  the  initial  mistake  to  which  I 
can,  too  late,  trace  a  host  of  succeeding  misfortunes.  I 
did  not  consult  my  wife.  Trying  now  to  analyze  my  rea- 
sons for  this  lamentable  error  of  judgment  I  imagined  that 
it  arose  from  some  absurd  disinclination  on  my  part  to 
admit  that  I  went  to  the  stage-door  of  a  theatre  to  inquire 
about  the  identity  of  a  young  woman  whom  I  had  recog- 
nized from  the  front  of  the  house. 

[278] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Disappeared 

Don't  you  see,  my  dear  Bruce,  it  is  almost  as  bad  to  fear 
your  wife  as  to  suspect  her. 

As,  at  that  time,  my  own  life  was  free  from  the  slightest 
cloud  of  sorrow,  I  took  keen  interest  in  the  troubles  of  Mrs. 
Hillmer,  and  I  amused  myself  by  playing,  in  her  behalf, 
the  part  of  a  modern  magician.  I  felt  intuitively  that  she 
would  resent  any  direct  attempt  on  my  part  to  place  funds 
at  her  disposal,  and  I  found  a  greal  deal  of  harmless  fun 
in  helping  her  with  her  consent,  but  without  her  actual 
knowledge. 

I  am,  as  you  know,  a  rich  man.  At  this  hour  I  cannot 
sum  up  my  available  assets  to  within  £100,000.  Alto- 
gether I  must  be  worth  nearly  a  million  sterling  —  yet  my 
money  cannot  purchase  me  another's  day  existence  such 
as  I  would  tolerate.  Strange,  is  it  not  ? 

Well,  the  close  of  the  year  before  last  was  a  period  of 
unexampled  activity  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  and,  by  way 
of  a  joke,  I  made  some  purchases  on  Mrs.  Hillmer's  ac- 
count, with  the  intention  of  pretending  to  pay  myself  out 
of  the  profits,  while  handing  her  such  balances  as  might 
accrue.  She  is  a  shrewd  woman,  and  quick  at  figures,  so 
I  might  have  experienced  some  difficulty  in  deceiving  her. 
But  the  mad  record  of  the  past  twelve  months  was  in  no 
wise  belied  by  its  inception.  My  purchases  were  those  of 
a  man  inspired  by  the  Goddess  of  Fortune.  Stocks  which 
I  bought  commenced  suddenly  to  inflate.  I  astounded 
my  brokers  by  the  manner  in  which  I  ferreted  out  neg- 
lected bonds,  mines  which  struck  the  mother  lode  next 
week,  railway  companies  whose  directors  were  even  then 
secretly  conspiring  to  water  the  stock. 

Mrs.  Hillmer  became  infected  with  the  craze  like  my- 
self. Twice  we  plunged  heavily  in  American  Rails  and 
came  out  triumphantly.  To  end  this  part  of  my  story, 

[279] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

after  five  months  of  excitement  I  had  contrived  not  only  to 
swell  my  own  deposits  to  a  large  extent,  but  I  had  secured 
on  Mrs.  Hillmer's  account  a  sufficient  quantity  of  reliable 
stock  to  bring  her  in  an  average  income  of  £1,500  per 
annum. 

My  greatest  difficulty  was  to  persuade  Mrs.  Hillmer  to 
break  off  the  habit  of  speculation  once  she  had  contracted 
it.  I  found  that  she  perused  the  late  editions  of  the  even- 
ing papers  with  the  same  eagerness  that  a  bookmaker  looks 
for  the  starting  prices  of  the  day's  races.  By  the  exercise 
of  firmness  and  tact  I  was  able  to  stop  her  from  further 
dealings. 

At  the  close  of  this  period  I  need  hardly  say  that  two 
things  had  happened.  Mrs.  Hillmer  and  I  were  fast 
friends,  with  common  objects  and  interests  in  life;  and, 
concurrently,  the  ties  between  Alice  and  myself  had  loos- 
ened still  more. 

I  also  carelessly  made  another  blunder.  Under  the 
pretence  that  secrecy  was  requisite  for  Stock  Exchange 
transactions,  I  persuaded  Mrs.  Hillmer  to  allow  me  to  pass 
under  the  name  of  Colonel  Montgomery. 

Mrs.  Hillmer,  of  course,  was  now  able  to  live  in  com- 
parative luxury.  I  came  to  regard  her  house  as  an  abode 
of  rest.  I  was  more  at  home  in  her  drawing-room  than  in 
my  own  house.  She  often  spoke  to  me  of  my  wife,  and 
obviously  wished  to  see  her,  but  here  I  did  a  cowardly 
thing.  I  represented  my  married  existence  as  far  less 
comfortable  than  it  really  was,  and  gradually  Mrs.  Hillmer 
ceased  all  allusion  to  Alice.  She  misunderstood  our  rela- 
tions. I  knew  it,  and  did  not  explain.  Not  a  very  worthy 
proceeding  for  a  man  whose  sense  of  honor  is  so  keen  that 
he  prefers  death  to  disgrace.  But  one  can  deceive  no 
other  so  easily  as  oneself. 

[280] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Disappeared 

Occasionally,  when  opportunities  offered,  we  went  out 
together.  It  was  foolish,  you  will  say,  and  I  agree  with 
you.  If  folly  were  not  pleasant  it  would  not  be  so  fashion- 
able. But,  to  this  hour,  the  relations  between  us  are  those 
only  of  close  friendship.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  addressed 
her  by  other  than  her  married  name,  never  have  I  touched 
her  arm  save  by  way  of  casual  politeness. 

I  really  think  I  flattered  myself  upon  my  superior  vir- 
tues. I  could  see  all  the  excellence  but  none  of  the  stupid- 
ity of  my  behavior. 

About  this  time,  Mrs.  Hillmer's  husband  died.  Thence- 
forth she  became  slightly  reserved  in  manner.  When  life 
was  a  defiance  she  fought  convention,  but  with  safety  came 
prudence.  In  fact,  she  told  me  that  my  frequent  visits  to 
her  house  would  certainly  be  ill-construed  if  they  became 
known.  I  was  seeking  for  a  pretext  to  introduce  her 
to  her  own  set  in  society,  when  a  double  catastrophe 
occurred. 

My  wife  discovered,  as  she  imagined,  that  I  was  clan- 
destinely occupied  with  another  woman,  and  Mrs.  Hill- 
mer's brother  returned  from  America. 

It  will  best  serve  my  hurried  narrative  if  I  relate  events 
exactly  as  they  happened,  and  not  as  they  look  in  the  light 
of  subsequent  knowledge. 

Mensmore  was  naturally  astounded  to  find  his  sister  so 
well  provided  for,  and  gratefully  accepted  the  help  she 
gave  him  towards  resuscitating  his  own  fortunes.  But  it 
did  not  occur  to  either  of  us  that  he  would  take  the  ordinary 
view  of  the  bond  existing  between  us,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  his  rage  when  he  found  out  that  I  was  not  known  to 
his  sister's  servants  by  my  right  name.  It  was  an  awk- 
ward position  for  all  three.  He  was  loth  to  allege  that 
which  we  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  deny.  But  between 

[281] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

him  and  me  there  was  a  marked  coolness,  arising  from 
suspicion  on  his  part  and  resentment  on  mine,  coupled,  I 
must  add,  with  an  unquiet  consciousness  that  his  attitude 
was  not  wholly  unreasonable. 

Mrs.  Hillmer  and  he  discussed  the  matter  several  times. 
He  urged  that  this  compromising  friendship  should  be 
discontinued.  She  —  a  determined  woman  when  her 
mind  was  made  up  —  fought  the  suggestion  on  the  ground 
of  unfairness,  though,  like  myself,  she  would  have  been 
glad  of  any  accident  which  would  alter  the  position  of 
affairs. 

He  interpreted  her  opposition  to  different  motives. 
Finally,  as  his  financial  position  was  a  dangerous  one,  as 
we  afterwards  learned,  and  he  despaired  of  setting  things 
straight  in  Raleigh  Mansions  —  judging  them  from  his 
own  point  of  view  —  he  resolved  to  leave  England  again. 

And  now  I  come  to  the  night  of  November  6. 

It  was,  as  you  will  remember,  a  foggy  and  unpleasant 
day.  I  had  some  business  in  the  city  which  detained  me 
until  darkness  set  in.  I  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Hillmer  for 
two  days,  so  I  resolved  to  drive  to  Sloane  Square  —  travel- 
ling by  the  Underground  was  intolerable  in  such  weather 
—  and  have  tea  with  her. 

I  did  not  know  then  that  she  had  gone  with  her  maid  to 
Brighton  —  intending  to  return  that  evening.  It  was  a 
sudden  whim,  she  told  me  subsequently,  and  she  had  not 
even  informed  the  other  servants  of  her  intention. 

The  pavements  in  the  City  were  slimy  with  the  damp- 
ness of  the  fog,  and  as  an  empty  four-wheeler  passed 
through  Cornhill  I  hailed  it,  a  most  unusual  choice  on  my 
part.  The  cabman,  I  noticed,  was  fairly  elevated,  but  as 
these  fellows  often  drive  better  when  drunk  than  sober,  I 
simply  told  him  to  be  careful,  and  jumped  in.  I  reached 

[282] 


How  Lady  Dyke  Disappeared 

Sloane  Square  all  right,  and  detained  the  cab  for  my  in- 
tended journey  home  in  time  for  dinner. 

At  the  door  of  Mrs.  Hillmer's  flat  I  met  the  cook  and 
housemaid,  both  going  out  to  do  some  shopping,  probably, 
in  the  spare  hour  before  it  was  time  to  prepare  dinner. 

They  knew  me  well,  of  course,  and  admitted  me  to  the 
drawing-room,  telling  me  that  Mrs.  Hillmer  was  out,  but 
would  surely  return  very  soon. 

I  had  not  been  in  the  room  a  minute  before  the  sharp 
double  knock  of  a  telegraph  messenger  brought  the  coach- 
man, whom  the  girls  left  in  charge  of  the  house,  to  the  door, 
and  I  startled  the  man  by  appearing  in  the  hall,  as  he  did 
not  know  of  my  presence. 

"  What  is  it,  Simmonds  ?  "  I  said,  as  I  correctly  guessed 
the  message  to  be  from  Mrs.  Hillmer. 

"The  missus  is  in  Brighton,  sir,"  he  answered.  "She 
wants  the  carriage  to  meet  her  at  Victoria  at  seven  o'clock. 
It's  six  now,  and  I  ought  to  go  around  to  the  stables  at 
once,  but  both  these  blessed  girls  have  gone  out.  I'm  in 
a  fair  fix." 

"  No  fix  at  all,"  I  said.  "  I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Hillmer,  so 
I  will  wait  here  until  she  arrives  —  or,  at  all  events,  till  the 
servants  come  back." 

The  man  scratched  his  head,  but  he  could  think  of  no 
better  plan,  so  he,  too,  went  off,  and  I  was  left  alone,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  in  Mrs,  Hillmer's  abode.  It  is 
the  small  events  that  govern  our  lives,  Claude,  not  those 
that  stand  out  prominently.  The  shopping  expedition  of 
a  couple  of  servant  girls,  intent  on  securing  a  new  cap  or  a 
few  yards  of  calico,  brought  about  my  wife's  death,  caused 
misery  to  many  people,  and  ends,  I  sincerely  hope,  in  my 
own  speedy  leap  into  oblivion. 

I  picked  up  a  novel,  "Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles,"  hit 

[283] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

upon  the  terrible  episode  that  culminates  on  Salisbury 
Plain,  and  was  soon  deeply  interested,  when  another  knock 

—  this  time  an  imperative  summons  long  drawn  out  — 
caused  me  to  hasten  to  the  door. 

I  opened  it,  and  in  the  dim  light  of  the  staircase  landing, 
for  a  second  did  not  recognize  the  lady  who  stood  outside. 
Heaven  help  me,  I  was  soon  enlightened.  My  wife's  voice 
was  bitterly  contemptuous  as  she  said : 

"You  don't  keep  a  footman,  it  appears,  in  your  new 
establishment,  Charles." 

Had  I  been  suddenly  struck  blind,  or  paralyzed,  I  could  not 
have  been  more  dumfounded  than  by  Alice's  unexpected 
appearance.  A  thorough  scoundrel  might,  perhaps,  have 
thought  of  the  best  tiling  to  say.  I  blurted  out  the  worst. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  I  stammered  when  my 
tongue  recovered  its  use. 

"  No  doubt  you  resent  my  appearance,"  she  cried,  in  a 
high,  shrill  tone  I  had  never  before  heard  from  her,  "  but  I 
shall  not  trouble  you  further.  I  merely  came  to  confirm 
with  my  own  eyes  what  my  ears  refused  to  entertain.  Now, 
I  am  satisfied." 

She  half  turned  with  the  intention  of  reaching  the  street, 
but,  rendered  desperate  by  the  absurdity  of  my  position,  I 
gripped  her  arm  and  pulled  her  forcibly  into  the  entrance- 
hall,  closing  and  bolting  the  door  behind  us. 

"You  have  seen  too  much  not  to  see  more,"  I  cried. 
"I  will  not  allow  you  to  ruin  both  our  lives  by  a  mere 
suspicion." 

She  was  in  a  furious  temper,  but  her  sense  of  propriety 

—  for  she  did  not  know  that  the  servants'  quarters  were 
empty  —  restrained  her  until  we  had  both  entered  the 
drawing-room. 

Then  she  burst  upon  me  with  a  torrent  of  words. 

[284] 


CHAPTER  XXX 

SIR  CHARLES  DYKE   ENDS   HIS   NAR- 
RATIVE 

"A  MERE  suspicion,  indeed!"  she  said,  and  there  was 
that  in  her  voice  which  warned  me  that  I  had  better  try 
unarmed  to  control  a  tigress  than  a  wife  who  deemed  her- 
self wronged;  "these  are  pretty  suspicions  that  surround 
you.  A  house  tenanted  by  another  woman  where  you  are 
evidently  master!  A  mistress  who  left  the  ranks  of  the 
ballet,  or  something  of  the  sort,  living  in  luxury  on  means 
supplied  by  you!  A  married  woman  who  casts  off  her 
husband  with  her  poverty,  to  take  up  a  paramour  and 
riches !  Do  you  think  you  can  blind  my  eyes  further  ?  I 
have  the  most  convincing  proofs  of  your  infamy.  Do 
not  imagine  that  on  any  specious  pretext  I  will  condone 
your  conduct.  I  despise  you  from  the  depths  of  my  heart. 
Henceforth  I  will  strive  to  forget  your  very  existence." 

"  Alice,"  I  said,  and  if  she  had  not  been  blinded  by  pas- 
sion she  must  have  been  affected  by  my  earnestness,  "  will 
you  listen  to  me  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  ?  What  respect  have  you  shown  to  me 
that  I  should  now  seem  even  to  accept  your  excuses  ?  " 

"I  appeal  to  you  not  to  do  anything  in  anger.  You 
have  good  reason  to  be  enraged  with  me.  I  only  ask  you 
to  suspend  your  final  judgment.  Hear  what  I  have  to  say, 
take  time  for  deliberation,  for  further  inquiry,  and  then 
condemn  me  to  any  punishment  you  think  fit." 

[285] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

She  did  not  answer  me.  Her  eyes  were  roving  round 
the  room  and  taking  stock  of  every  indication  of  poor  Mrs. 
Hillmer's  artistic  aptitude.  The  place  was  eminently 
home-like,  much  more  so  than  our  elegant  mansion  in 
Portman  Square,  and  my  wife  noted  the  fact  with  momen- 
tarily increasing  bitterness.  Yet  I  essayed  my  desperate 
task  with  failing  nerve  and  terrible  consciousness  of  a  bad 
cause. 

"  Notwithstanding  all  that  you  have  seen  and  heard,"  I 
said,  "  I  am  not  guilty  of  the  crime  you  accuse  me  of.  Mrs. 
Hillmer  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  whom  I  have  helped  from 
a  state  of  misery  to  one  of  comfort  and  comparative  hap- 
piness. She  is  as  pure-minded  in  thought,  as  spotless  in 
character,  as  you  are  yourself.  You  are  doing  her  a  griev- 
ous injustice  by  doubting  the  relations  between  her  and 
me.  If  you  only  knew  her  —  " 

My  wife  laughed  scornfully. 

"Pray  spare  yourself,  Charles.  I  have  never  seen  you 
so  interested  before,  but  you  lie  badly,  nevertheless." 

"I  do  not  lie.  Before  heaven  I  am  telling  you  the 
truth." 

"  You  are  even  willing  to  perjure  yourself,  Colonel  Mont- 
gomery? " 

My  poor  armor  was  ill-fitted  for  this  stroke.  I  suppose 
I  must  have  flinched  before  it,  for  she  went  on : 

"You  see  I  am  well  posted.  My  detectives  have  done 
their  work  well.  Oh,  Heaven,  that  I  should  ever  have 
learned  to  love  a  vile  wretch  like  you.  I  thought  you  re- 
spected me,  at  least.  I  tried  hard  to  bend  my  own  wishes 
to  sympathy  with  yours,  and  I  dreamt  even  of  ultimate 
success.  I  knew  you  didn't  care  much  for  me,  but  the 
devotion  of  a  slave  has  at  times  been  rewarded  by  the 
affection  of  her  master.  Fortunately,  I  am  a  slave  by 

[286] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke  Ends  His  Narrative 

choice.  It  only  required  experience  to  break  my  bonds, 
and  you  have  supplied  the  experience." 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  did  it  dawn  on  me  that  my 
self-contained  and  haughty  wife  harbored  other  thoughts 
than  a  sentiment  of  respect  for  an  indulgent  and  easily 
controlled  husband.  It  was  a  shock  to  me,  a  deeper 
humiliation  than  she  dreamed  of.  How  could  I  expiate 
the  past,  wipe  out  this  record  of  error  and  folly,  but  not  of 
ill-doing,  and  live  happily  with  her  so  long  as  Providence 
was  pleased  to  spare  us  ?  While  these  things  ran  through 
my  brain  she  suddenly  turned  on  me. 

"  You  fear  exposure  in  the  law  courts !  You  dread  your 
name  figuring  in  a  society  scandal !  How  little  you  know 
me.  You  naturally  compare  me  by  your  own  contempt- 
ible standard.  I  left  your  house  to-night  determined  never 
to  return  to  it  should  I  find  you  here,  as  in  all  probability, 
I  was  told,  would  be  the  case.  I  will  go  to  my  sister  until 
I  have  determined  upon  my  future  life.  You,  at  least, 
will  never,  by  my  desire,  see  or  hear  from  me  again.  Thus 
far,  I  presume,  I  will  fall  in  with  your  views." 

She  would  have  passed  me,  but  I  held  fast  to  the  inside 
of  the  door.  If  once  she  got  away  from  me  I  might  never 
be  able  to  set  affairs  even  tolerably  right.  Better,  I  deemed, 
have  one  trying  scene  in  the  hope  that  she  would  calm 
down  in  the  face  of  facts,  than  allow  her  to  carry  the  quarrel 
to  her  relatives  and  strengthen  her  attitude  by  their  natural 
support. 

"Alice,"  I  said,  "you  shall  not  go." 

"  How  can  you  dare  to  detain  me  ?  '*  she  shrieked,  and 
the  glint  in  her  eyes  showed  how  thoroughly  her  passions 
were  aroused. 

"  You  can  separate  from  me  if  you  will.  I  shall  not  ven- 
ture to  hinder  you.  But  I  swear  you  shall  not  do  this  rash 

[  287  ] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

act  without  knowledge.  I  tell  you  you  must  remain  here. 
When  you  leave  this  house  you  do  so  in  my  company." 

"  And  why  am  I  to  be  kept  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Hillmer  will  return  in  less  than  an  hour.  You 
have  sought  this  meeting  yourself.  Very  well.  You  shall 
have  it.  When  your  charges  have  been  thoroughly 
thrashed  out  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Hillmer  and  myself 
I  will  then  accompany  you  where  you  will,  and  leave  you 
under  the  protection  of  your  sister,  or  any  one  else  you 
choose,  should  you  still  persist  in  leaving  me." 

Of  course  my  action  was  unwise  to  the  last  degree.  But 
remember,  Claude,  that  during  these  last  awful  five  min- 
utes I  had  seen  a  side  of  my  wife's  nature  hidden  from  me 
six  long  years.  And  I  was  a  man  suddenly  plunged  into  a 
raging  sea,  drifting  helplessly  I  knew  not  whither.  All 
that  consumed  me  was  a  wild  desire  for  such  scant  justice 
as  I  deserved.  I  had  erred,  but  my  faults  were  not  those 
my  wife  alleged  against  me. 

If  she  was  angry  before  she  was  now  absolutely  uncon- 
trollable. 

"  What  ? "  she  screamed.  "  Remain  to  meet  your  — 
your  mistress?  Never,  while  I  have  life!" 

She  flung  herself  upon  me  so  suddenly  that  she  tore  me 
away  from  the  door.  She  was  a  strong  and  athletic 
woman,  and  I  suppose  she  expected  some  resistance,  for 
she  used  such  force  as  to  drag  me  forward  into  the  middle 
of  the  room,  overturning  a  chair  in  the  effort.  I  was  so 
utterly  taken  by  surprise  that  I  yielded  to  her  violence  more 
completely  than  she  expected. 

She  staggered,  let  go  her  hold,  and  fell  heavily  back- 
wards, tripping  over  the  fallen  chair.  I  made  a  desperate 
attempt  to  save  her,  but  only  caught  the  end  of  a  fur  neck- 
let, and  it  tore  like  a  spider's  web. 

[288] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke  Ends  His  Narrative 

Her  body  crashed  against  a  Venetian  fender,  and  her 
head  came  with  awful  force  against  a  sort  of  support  for 
the  fire-irons  that  stood  up  a  foot  from  the  ground. 

Then  she  rolled  over,  her  eyes  and  face  undergoing  a 
ghastly  change,  and  instantly  became,  as  I  thought,  un- 
conscious. 

I  knelt  beside  her,  raising  her  head  with  my  right  hand, 
and  brokenly  besought  her  to  speak  to  me,  when  I  would 
at  once  do  anything  she  demanded.  But  she  gave  no  sign 
of  animation.  In  a  frenzy  of  despair,  I  forced  myself  to 
examine  her  injuries,  and  my  heart  nearly  stopped  beating 
when  I  discovered  that  a  large  piece  of  iron  had  been 
driven  into  her  brain  through  the  back  of  her  head. 

I  knew  in  a  moment  that  she  was  dead.  Although  I 
have  not  had  much  experience  of  that  terrible  epoch  in  the 
human  being,  I  have  seen  far  too  much  of  death  in  animal 
life  not  to  know  that  she  who  had  been  my  honored  and 
respected  wife  now  lay  before  me  a  mere  soulless  entity  — 
a  symbol  only  of  the  splendid  vital  creature  who,  a  minute 
earlier,  was  angrily  protesting  against  the  supposed  faith- 
lessness of  her  mate. 

Looking  back  now  upon  the  events  of  that  fateful  night, 
I  marvel  at  the  appalling  coolness  which  came  to  my  aid 
as  soon  as  I  realized  the  extent  of  the  misfortune  which  had 
befallen  both  Alice  and  myself.  I  can  fully  understand 
what  is  meant  by  the  callousness  of  a  certain  class  of  crim- 
inals, or  the  indifference  to  inevitable  death  betrayed  by 
Eastern  races.  No  sooner  was  I  quite  assured  that  my 
wife  was  dead  —  dead  beyond  hope  or  doubt  —  than  I 
regained  the  use  of  my  reasoning  faculties  in  the  most 
marvellously  cold-blooded  degree. 

The  actual  difficulties  of  my  position  were  enormous. 
I  arraigned  myself  before  the  judge  and  jury,  and  saw 

[289] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

clearly  that  every  circumstance  which  contributed  to 
Alice's  suspicions  in  the  first  instance  were  now  magnified 
a  hundred-fold  by  the  manner  and  scene  of  her  death. 

Before  me,  in  ghostly  panorama,  moved  the  dread 
crowd  of  witnesses  against  me,  the  degradation  of  my 
family,  the  bitter  and  vengeful  feelings  of  my  wife's  rela- 
tives, the  suffering  of  poor,  unconscious  Mrs.  Hillmer,  the 
whole  avalanche  of  horror  and  misery  which  this  unfor- 
tunate accident  had  precipitated  upon  every  person  who 
claimed  my  relationship  or  friendship. 

My  mental  attitude  was  quite  altruistic.  Could  I  have 
undone  the  past,  I  would  cheerfully  have  undergone  a 
painful  and  protracted  death  forthwith. 

But  no  possible  atonement  on  my  part  would  restore 
Alice  to  life.  I  knew  it  was  quite  improbable  that  I 
should  be  convicted  of  murdering  her,  strong  as  the  cir- 
cumstantial testimony  against  me  must  be.  The  mere 
legal  consequences  did  not,  however,  weigh  with  me  for  a 
second.  From  that  awful  hour  I  felt  that  I  was  doomed 
personally.  My  only  thought  was  to  seek  oblivion,  not 
only  for  myself,  but  for  all  whom  Alice's  death  might  affect. 

Reasoning  in  this  way,  I  rapidly  resolved  to  make  a  bold 
effort  to  conceal  forever  the  time  and  place  of  the  fatality. 
If  I  failed,  I  could  tell  the  truth ;  if  I  succeeded,  I  might,  at 
my  own  expense,  save  a  vast  amount  of  unnecessary  sorrow. 

The  desperate  expedient  came  to  me  of  carrying  off  the 
body  to  the  untenanted  house  at  Putney  where  my  old 
master  had  resided  until  his  death,  utilizing  the  four- 
wheeled  cab  with  its  half-drunken  driver  for  the  purpose. 

If  I  reached  Putney  unhindered,  I  could  dispose  of  my 
terrible  burden  easily,  for  the  river  flowed  past  the  grounds, 
and  every  inch  of  the  locality  was  known  to  me. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  the  body  might  be  found 

[290] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke  Ends  His  Narrative 

and  recognized.  Our  personal  linen  was  never  marked, 
by  reason  of  the  fact  that  our  laundry  work  was  done  upon 
our  Yorkshire  estate,  but  as  a  temporary  safeguard  I  re- 
solved to  take  some  different  and  less  valuable  outer  clothes 
from  Mrs.  Hillmer's  residence. 

Her  maid  was  of  a  similar  build  to  my  wife,  so  I  hastened 
to  the  girl's  room,  and  laid  hands  upon  a  soiled  coat  and 
skirt  which  were  relegated  to  the  recesses  of  the  wardrobe. 

I  glanced  at  my  watch  as  I  came  along  the  corridor.  It 
was  6.15  P.M.  All  the  incidents  I  have  related  to  you  had 
happened  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Oh,  heaven!  it 
seemed  longer  than  all  the  preceding  years  of  my  life. 

Having  resolved  upon  a  line  of  conduct,  I  pursued  it 
with  the  sang-froid  and  accuracy  of  one  of  the  superior 
scoundrels  delineated  by  Du  Boisgobey.  The  door  of  the 
flat  was  locked.  If  the  servants,  hardly  due  yet,  returned 
unexpectedly,  I  would  send  them  off  to  Victoria  Station 
on  some  imaginary  errand  of  their  mistress's. 

I  knelt  beside  my  poor  wife's  body  once  more,  and  with 
great  difficulty  took  off  her  costume  and  loosely  fastened  on 
the  maid's  garments. 

In  her  purse  there  were  some  bulky  documents,  which 
I  afterwards  discovered  to  be  the  reports  furnished  by  a 
firm  of  private  detectives,  detailing  all  my  movements 
with  reference  to  Raleigh  Mansions  with  surprising  ac- 
curacy. But  she  had  concealed  her  name.  These  men 
themselves  only  knew  me  as  "  Colonel  Montgomery." 

How  Alice  first  came  to  suspect  me  I  can  only  guess. 
Perhaps  my  indifference,  my  absence  from  home  at  definite 
hours,  a  chance  meeting  in  the  street  unknown  to  me  — 
any  of  these  may  have  supplied  the  initial  cause,  and  led 
her  to  verify  her  doubts  before  taxing  me  with  my  supposed 
iniquity. 

[291] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

Indeed,  her  final  act  in  coming  alone  to  Mrs.  Hillmer's 
abode,  revealed  her  fearless  spirit  and  independent  meth- 
ods. She  wanted  no  divorce  court  revelations.  She 
would  simply  have  spurned  me  as  an  unworthy  and  dis- 
honorable wretch.  Her  small  belongings  I  put  in  rny 
pockets;  the  clothes  I  made  into  a  parcel  and  stuffed  tem- 
porarily beneath  my  overcoat. 

Then  I  unlocked  the  door,  and  went  down  the  few  steps 
to  the  main  entrance.  There  was  no  one  about,  the  fog 
and  sleet  having  cleared  the  street  —  a  quiet  thoroughfare 
at  all  times. 

I  took  the  risk  of  the  maids  coming  back,  and  I  ran  to 
the  square  for  my  conveyance.  The  driver  had  been  im- 
proving the  occasion,  and  was  more  inebriated  than  beforeo 
He  brought  his  cab  to  the  door,  and  I  knew,  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  things,  that  no  one  had  entered  during  my 
absence. 

With  some  difficulty  I  lifted  Alice's  body  into  my  arms 
in  as  natural  a  position  as  possible,  and  carried  her  to  the 
cab,  leaving  the  door  of  the  flat  ajar.  Luck  still  favored 
me.  The  cabman  supposed  that  she,  like  himself,  was 
intoxicated.  A  man  came  down  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  but  he  paid  not  the  slightest  heed  to  me,  and,  in- 
deed, we  were  but  dimly  visible  to  each  other. 

Exerting  all  my  strength  unobtrusively,  I  placed  my 
wife  on  the  rear  seat,  and  then  calmly  gave  the  driver  in- 
structions. He  grumbled  at  the  distance,  but  I  told  him 
I  would  pay  him  handsomely.  Searching  in  my  pockets 
and  Alice's  purse,  I  could  only  find  twelve  shillings,  so, 
although  it  was  risky,  to  avoid  a  quarrel  with  the  man,  I 
determined  to  give  him  a  five-pound  note. 

Thus  far,  all  had  gone  well. 

The  notion  possessed  me  that,  to  all  intents  and  pur- 

[292] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke  Ends  His  Narrative 

poses,  I  had  murdered  my  wife,  and  that  I  was  now  dis- 
posing of  the  visible  signs  of  my  guilt  in  the  most  approved 
manner  of  a  daring  criminal.  Whether  I  did  right  or 
wrong  I  cannot,  even  at  this  late  hour,  decide.  Should 
my  death  induce  forgetfulness,  I  am  still  inclined  to  think 
that  I  acted  for  the  best.  My  wife  was  dead;  I  was  self- 
condemned.  Why,  then,  allow  others,  wholly  innocent, 
to  be  dragged  into  the  vortex  ? 

This  was  my  line  of  thought.  If  you,  reading  this 
ghastly  narrative,  shudder  at  my  deeds,  I  pray  you  never- 
theless to  weigh  in  the  balance  the  good  and  ill  that  re- 
sulted from  my  actions. 

At  last  we  reached  Putney,  and  drew  up  at  the  end  of 
the  disused  lane  which  runs  down  by  the  side  of  the  house 
to  the  river. 

Here,  again,  the  road  was  deserted.  I  lifted  my  wife 
out,  carried  her  to  the  postern-gate,  and  returned  to  give 
the  driver  his  note.  The  man  was  so  amazed  at  the  amount 
that  he  whipped  up  his  horse  instantly,  fearing  lest  I  should 
change  my  mind. 

I  was  about  to  force  open  the  old  and  rickety  door  into 
the  garden  when  I  remembered  the  drain-pipe  jutting  into 
the  Thames  —  a  place  where,  as  a  child,  I  often  caused 
much  alarm  by  surreptitious  visits  for  the  purpose  of  catch- 
ing minnows.  I  quickly  took  off  my  coat  and  boots, 
turned  up  my  trousers  and  shut-sleeves,  and  examined 
the  pipe  with  my  hands. 

It  exactly  suited  my  purpose.  In  half  a  minute  I  had 
firmly  wedged  my  wife's  body  beneath  it.  This  was  the 
most  horrible  portion  of  my  task.  The  chill  water,  the 
desolation  of  the  river  bank,  the  mud  and  trailing  weeds 
—  all  these  things  seemed  so  vile  and  loathsome  when 

[293] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

placed  in  contact  with  the  mortal  remains  of  my  ill-fated 
Alice. 

She  had  loved  me.  I  believe  I  loved  her,  as  I  assuredly 
do  now  when  her  presence  is  but  a  memory,  yet  I  was  con- 
demned to  commit  her  to  the  contaminating  beastliness  of 
such  surroundings.  It  was  a  small  matter,  in  the  face  of 
death,  but  it  has  weighed  on  me  since  more  than  any  other 
feature  of  that  cruel  night's  history. 

Before  leaving  Putney  I  tied  her  clothes,  hat,  and  furs 
to  a  couple  of  heavy  stones  and  threw  the  parcel  into  deep 
water. 

By  train  and  cab  I  reached  home  but  a  few  minutes  late 
for  dinner.  It  was  not  difficult  for  me  to  act  my  part  with 
the  servants,  nor  keep  up  the  farce  during  the  weary  days 
that  followed.  My  consciousness  was  so  seared  by  what  I 
had  gone  through  that  the  mere  make-believe  of  my  posi- 
tion was  a  relief  to  me. 

That  night,  in  the  privacy  of  my  room,  I  recollected  the 
broken  fender,  and  feared  lest  the  iron-work  would  supply 
a  clue  should  the  body  be  discovered,  a  thing  I  deemed 
practically  impossible. 

But,  for  Mrs.  Hillmer's  sake,  I  took  no  risk.  Next 
morning,  before  I  saw  you  at  Tattersall's,  I  made  arrange- 
ments for  the  whole  contents  of  her  drawing-room  to  be 
transferred  to  her  brother's  flat,  where,  to  my  knowledge, 
the  articles  were  needed. 

Mrs.  Hillmer  had  gone  out  early,  so  the  thing  was  done 
in  her  absence.  Her  amazement  was  so  great  that  she 
wired  me,  using  as  a  signature  the  pet  name  of  her  child- 
hood, and  this  was  the  first  message  you  heard  the  groom 
refer  to  when  he  came  a  second  time  with  the  telegram 
from  Richmond. 

I  wrote  her  a  hurried  note,  explaining  that  I  intended 

[294] 


Sir  Charles  Dyke  Ends  His  Narrative 

the  transfer  as  a  sop  to  her  offended  brother,  but  she  had 
telegraphed  again,  and  I  had  to  go  to  see  her,  to  learn  that 
Mensmore  resented  the  gift,  and  had  gone  off  in  a  huff  to 
Monte  Carlo. 

A  little  later,  I  took  the  supreme  step  of  writing  a  fare- 
well letter.  Since  my  wife's  death  I  could  not  bear  to  meet 
any  other  woman.  I  communed  with  my  poor  Alice  more 
when  dead  than  when  alive. 

I  do  not  think  I  have  anything  else  to  tell  you.  Step  by 
step  I  watched  you  and  the  police  tearing  aside  my  barrier 
of  deceit.  At  times  I  thought  I  would  baffle  you  in  the 
end.  Were  it  not  for  my  folly  in  bribing  Jane  Harding  I 
think  I  must  have  succeeded. 

That  poor  girl  was  the  undoing  of  me  in  the  first  in- 
stance, and  she  now  has  brought  me  my  final  sentence,  for 
she  came  to-day  and  told  me,  with  tears,  all  that  happened 
between  the  detective  and  herself.  White,  too,  put  in  an 
appearance. 

To-morrow,  I  suppose,  he  will  bring  a  warrant,  if  you  do 
not  see  him  first  and  tell  him  the  truth. 

Do  not  misunderstand  me.  I  am  glad  of  this  release. 
When  you  strove  to  arouse  me  from  my  despair  I  did,  for  a 
little  while,  cherish  the  hope  that  I  might  be  able  to  devote 
my  declining  years  to  the  work  which  Alice  herself  took  an 
interest  in.  But  the  web  of  testimony  woven  round  my 
old  friend,  Mensmore ;  the  self-effacing  spirit  of  his  sister, 
who,  to  shield  me,  was  willing  to  sacrifice  herself;  the  pos- 
sibility that  I  might  involve  these  two,  and  perhaps  others, 
in  my  own  ruin  —  every  circumstance  conspired  to  over- 
whelm me. 

I  can  endure  no  more,  my  dear  Bruce.  It  is  ended. 
The  past  is  already  a  dream  to  me  —  the  future  void. 
My  poor  nature  was  not  designed  to  withstand  such  a 

[295] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

strain.  The  cord  of  existence  has  snapped,  and  I  cannot 
bring  myself  to  believe  it  will  be  mended  again.  In  bid- 
ding you  farewell  I  ask  one  thing.  If  you  take  a  charitable 
view  of  my  deeds,  if  you  consider  that  my  penalty  is  com- 
mensurate with  my  faults,  then  you  might  take  my  dead 
hand  and  say,  "This  was  my  friend.  I  pity  him.  May 
the  spirit  of  his  wife  be  merciful  unto  him  should  they  meet 
in  the  regions  beyond  the  grave." 

And  so,  for  the  last  time,  I  sign  myself 

CHARLES  DYKE. 


[296] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
VALEDICTORY 

MUCH  as  Bruce  would  have  wished  to  inter  his  dead 
friend's  secret  with  his  mortal  remains  in  the  tomb,  it  was 
impossible. 

Sir  Charles  Dyke's  sacrifice  must  not  be  made  in  vain, 
and  the  strange  chain  of  events  encircled  other  actors  in 
the  drama  too  strongly  to  enable  the  barrister  to  adopt  the 
course  which  would  otherwise  have  commended  itself  to 
him.  An  early  visit  to  Scotland  Yard,  where,  in  company 
with  Mr.  White,  he  interviewed  the  Deputy  Commissioner, 
and  a  conference  with  the  district  coroner  settled  two  im- 
portant questions.  The  police  were  satisfied  as  to  the 
cause  of  Lady  Dyke's  death,  and  the  coroner  agreed  to 
keep  the  evidence  as  to  the  baronet's  sudden  collapse 
strictly  within  the  limits  of  the  medical  evidence. 

A  wholly  unnecessary  public  scandal  was  thus  avoided. 

With  Lady  Dyke's  relatives  his  task  required  consider- 
able tact.  Without  taking  them  fully  into  his  confidence, 
he  explained  that  Sir  Charles  had  all  along  known  the 
exact  facts  bearing  upon  her  death  and  burial-place,  but 
for  family  reasons  he  thought  it  best  not  to  disclose  his 
knowledge. 

Bruce  needed  their  co-operation  in  getting  the  home 
office  to  give  the  requisite  permission  for  Lady  Dyke's  re- 
burial.  The  circumstance  that  the  deceased  baronet  had 

[297] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

left  his  estates  to  his  wife's  nephew,  joined  to  the  impor- 
tant position  Bruce  occupied  as  one  of  the  trustees  and 
joint  guardian,  with  the  boy's  mother,  of  the  young  heir, 
smoothed  over  many  difficulties. 

After  a  harassing  and  anxious  week  Bruce  had  the  mel- 
ancholy satisfaction  of  seeing  the  remains  of  the  unfor- 
tunate couple  laid  to  rest  in  the  stately  gloom  of  the  family 
vault. 

The  newspapers,  of  course,  scented  a  mystery  in  the 
proceedings,  but  definite  inquiry  was  barred  in  every  direc- 
tion. Even  the  exhumation  order  gave  no  clue  to  the  rea- 
sons of  the  authorities  for  granting  it,  and  in  less  than  the 
proverbial  nine  days  the  incident  was  forgotten. 

Sir  Charles  had  made  it  a  condition  precedent  to  the 
succession  that  his  heir  should  bear  his  name,  and  should 
live  with  his  widowed  mother  on  the  Yorkshire  estate,  or 
in  the  town  house,  for  a  certain  number  of  months  in  each 
year,  until  the  boy  was  old  enough  to  go  to  school. 

The  stipulation  was  intended  to  have  the  effect  of  more 
rapidly  burying  his  own  memory  in  oblivion.  Bruce,  too, 
was  given  a  sum  of  £5,000,  "to  be  expended  in  bequests 
as  he  thought  fit." 

Claude  understood  his  motive  thoroughly.  Jane  Hard- 
ing had  been  loyal  to  her  master  in  her  way,  so  he  arranged 
that  she  should  receive  an  annual  income  sufficient  to  se- 
cure her  from  want.  Thompson,  too,  was  provided  for 
when  the  time  came  that  he  was  too  feeble  for  further  em- 
ployment at  Portman  Square,  and  Mr.  White  received  a 
handsome  douceur  for  his  services. 

Mrs.  Hilhner  did  not  even  know  of  Sir  Charles  Dyke's 
death  until  weeks  had  passed.  Acting  on  Bruce's  advice 
her  brother  simply  told  her  that  everything  had  been 
settled,  and  that  the  authorities  concurred  with  the  bar- 

[298] 


Valedictory 

rister  in  the  opinion  that  Lady  Dyke  was  accidently 
killed. 

When  she  had  completely  recovered  from  the  shock  of 
the  belief  that  her  loyal  friend  had  murdered  his  wife, 
Mensmore  one  day  told  her  the  whole  sad  story.  But  he 
would  allow  no  more  weeping. 

"  It  is  time,"  he  said,  "  that  the  misery  of  this  episode 
should  cease.  When  the  chief  actor  in  the  tragedy  gave 
his  life  to  end  the  suffering,  we  would  but  ill  meet  his 
wishes  by  allowing  it  to  occupy  our  thoughts  unduly  in  the 
future." 

Mensmore's  marriage  with  Phyllis  Browne  was  now 
definitely  fixed  for  the  following  autumn,  so  he  carried  his 
sister  off  with  him  on  a  hasty  trip  to  Wyoming  in  company 
with  Corbett  —  a  journey  required  for  the  protection  and 
development  of  then*  joint  interests  in  that  State. 

Not  only  did  their  property  turn  out  to  be  of  great  and 
lasting  value,  but  during  then*  absence  the  Springbok 
Mine  began  to  boom.  Even  the  cautious  barrister  one 
day  found  himself  hesitating  whether  or  not  to  sell  at  half 
over  par,  so  excellent  were  the  reports  and  so  extensive 
the  dividends  from  that  auriferous  locality. 

The  two  young  people  were  married,  a  scion  of  the 
house  had  become  a  lusty  two-year-old,  Mr.  White  had 
become  Chief  Inspector,  and  Miss  Marie  le  Marchant  had, 
by  strenuous  effort,  risen  to  the  dignity  of  double  crown 
posters  as  a  "  dashing  comedienne  "  —  when  Bruce's  mem- 
ories of  his  lost  friends  were  suddenly  revived  in  an  un- 
expected manner. 

Mr.  Sydney  H.  Corbett  came  to  him  with  measured 
questionings  and  brooding  thought  stamped  on  his  brows. 

"  It's  like  this,"  he  said,  when  they  were  settled  down  to 
details,  "I  want  to  get  married." 

[299] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

"  To  whom  ?  "  inquired  Claude,  wondering  at  the  savage 
tone  in  which  the  announcement  was  made. 

"To  Mrs.  Hillmer." 

"Oh!" 

"  That's  what  everybody  yells  the  moment  I  mention  it. 
She  screams  'Oh!'  and  runs  off  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
Her  brother  says  '  Oh ! '  and  looks  uncomfortable,  but  re- 
fuses to  discuss  the  proposition.  Now  you  say  ' Oh!'  and 
gaze  at  me  like  an  owl  at  the  bare  statement.  What  the 
dickens  does  it  all  mean,  I  want  to  know  ?  I'm  not  worry- 
ing about  what  happened  years  ago.  Mrs.  Hillmer  is 
just  the  sort  of  woman  I  require  as  a  wife,  and  I'll  marry 
her  yet  if  the  whole  British  nation  says  '  Oh ! '  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  and  answered  by  the  U-nited  States." 

"That's  the  proper  sort  of  spirit  in  which  to  set  about 
the  business." 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  I  can't  get  any  forrarder.  There's  a  kind 
of  rock  below  water  which  holds  me  up  every  time  I  shoot 
the  rapids.  She  likes  me  well  enough,  I  know.  She  calls 
me  'Syd'  as  slick  as  butter,  and  I  call  her  'Gwen';  but 
there  you  are  —  if  I  want  to  go  ahead  a  bit  she  pulls  up 
and  weeps.  Now,  why  the  —  " 

"Steady,  Mr.  Corbett.  Women  weep  for  many  rea- 
sons. Do  you  know  her  history  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  don't  want  to." 

"  But  perhaps  that  is  exactly  what  she  does  want.  Re- 
member that  she  has  been  married  before,  with  somewhat 
bitter  experience.  She  probably  believes  that  a  husband 
and  wife  should  have  no  secrets  from  each  other.  Above 
all  else,  there  should  be  no  cloud  between  them  as  to  by- 
gone events.  Mrs.  Hillmer  is  highly  sensitive.  If  she 
imagined  you  were  under  any  misapprehension  as  to  the 
circumstances  under  which  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Dyke 

[300] 


Valedictory 

met  their  deaths  —  do  not  forget  that  you  were  personally 
mixed  up  in  the  affair  —  she  would  neither  entertain  your 
proposal  nor  explain  her  motives.  She  would  just  do  as 
you  say  —  run  away  and  cry." 

"Well,  now,  that  beats  everything,"  said  Corbett  ad- 
miringly. "That  never  struck  me  before." 

"  It  is  the  probable  explanation  -J.  her  attitude,  never- 
theless." 

"Then  what  am  I  to  do?" 

"Write  to  her.  Ask  her  permission  to  learn  the  facts 
from  me.  Tell  her  you  believe  you  understand  the  rea- 
sons for  her  reticence,  and  that  your  only  excuse  for  the 
request  is  that  you  want  to  go  to  her  on  an  equal  plane  of 
absolute  confidence.  It  seems  to  me  —  " 

"That  I'd  better  get  quick  and  do  it,"  shouted  Corbett, 
vanishing  with  the  utmost  celerity. 

Bruce  still  occupied  his  old  chambers  in  Victoria  Street. 
He  did  not  expect  to  see  Corbett  again  for  a  couple  of  days. 
To  the  barrister's  utter  amazement  he  returned  within  ten 
minutes. 

"Fire  away!"  he  cried  excitedly.  "You  struck  it  first 
time.  I  just  rang  her  up  —  " 

"Rang  her  up?" 

"Yes;  she's  staying  at  the  Savoy  for  a  few  days,  so  I 
telephoned  from  the  Windsor.  I  could  never  fix  up  a 
letter  in  your  words,  you  know.  But  switch  me  on  the 
end  of  a  wire  and  I  know  where  I  am." 

"  What  on  earth  did  you  say  ?  " 

"As  soon  as  I  got  her  in  the  box  at  the  other  end,  I  said, 
'  Is  that  you,  Gwen  ? '  '  Yes,'  said  she.  '  Well,'  said  I, '  I 
guess  you  know  who's  talking?'  'Quite  well,'  said  she. 
'Then,'  said  I,  'I've  just  been  telling  Mr.  Bruce  I  wanted 
to  marry  you,  and  that  you  wouldn't  even  discuss  the 

[301] 


A  Mysterious  Disappearance 

proposition.  He  said  you  probably  wished  me  to  know 
the  whole  story  of  Sir  Charles  Dyke,  but  felt  kinder  shy  of 
telling  me  yourself.  He  will  get  it  off  his  chest  if  you  give 
him  permission,  and  then  I  can  come  along  in  a  hansom 
and  fix  things.  What  do  you  say?'  There  was  no  an- 
swer, so  I  shouted,  '  Are  you  there  ? '  and  she  said,  '  Yes,' 
faint-like.  *  Don't  let  me  hurry  you,'  said  I,  '  but  if  you 
agree  straight-away  I  can  catch  Bruce  at  home,  for  I've 
just  left  him.'  With  that  she  said,  '  Very  well.  You  can 
see  Mr.  Bruce.'  And  here  I  am." 

"Having  accomplished  the  whole  thing  satisfactorily." 

"As  how?" 

"  Don't  you  see  you  have  proposed  to  the  lady  and  prac- 
tically been  accepted  ?  " 

"Jehosh!  It  does  look  something  like  it.  Say,  I'm 
off!  This  story  of  yours  will  keep  until  to-morrow." 

He  would  have  gone,  but  Bruce  jumped  after  him. 

"  Not  so  fast,  Mr.  Corbett.  You  must  not  sail  into  the 
Savoy  flying  a  false  flag.  Kindly  oblige  me  with  your  at- 
tention for  the  next  half -hour." 

With  that,  he  unlocked  a  safe  and  took  from  its  recesses 
Sir  Charles  Dyke's  "confession."  He  read  the  whole  of 
its  opening  passages,  explaining  the  relations  between 
Mrs.  Hillmer  and  her  unfortunate  but  abiding  friend. 

The  straightforward,  honest  sentences  sounded  strangely 
familiar  at  this  distance  of  time.  Bruce  was  glad  of  the 
opportunity  of  reading  them  aloud.  It  seemed  a  fitting 
thing  that  this  testimony  should  come,  as  it  were,  from 
the  tomb. 

Corbett  listened  intently  to  the  recital  and  to  the  bar- 
rister's summary  of  the  events  that  followed. 

"Poor  chap!"  he  said,  when  the  sad  tale  had  ended. 
"  I  hope  you  shook  hands  with  him  as  he  asked  you  to  do  ?  " 

[302] 


Valedictory 

"I  did.  Would  that  my  grasp  had  the  power  to  re- 
assure him  of  my  heartfelt  sympathy." 

For  a  little  while  they  were  silent. 

"So,"  said  Corbett  at  last,  "Gwen  thought  I  would 
make  the  same  mistake  as  the  poor  lady,  and  suspect  her 
wrongfully." 

"No,  not  that.  But  naturally  she  wished  the  man 
whom  she  could  trust  as  a  husband  to  be  wholly  cognizant 
of  events  in  which  already  he  had  participated  slightly." 

"She  was  right.  I  like  her  all  the  better  for  it.  But, 
tell  me,  is  there  any  necessity  for  that  wonderful  document 
to  be  preserved  ?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest.     It  has  served  its  last  use." 

"Then  put  it  in  the  fire." 

Bruce  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  comply  with  the 
wish.  The  flames  devoured  the  record  with  avidity,  and 
the  two  men  watched  the  manuscript  crumbling  into 
nothingness.  Then  Corbett  said : 

"I  must  be  off  to  the  Savoy." 

"Good-bye,  old  chap,"  said  Bruce.  "And  good  luck 
to  you,  too.  I  congratulate  both  Mrs.  Hillmer  and  your- 
self." 


[303] 


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